#what sorts of questions she asks... how she expects them to be answered...

[smile-files]

15 minutes until my stats midterm... gulp

[luveline]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky. 

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely. 

Total quiet. 

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?” 

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?” 

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…” 

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?” 

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.” 

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.” 

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh. 

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated. 

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry. 

“Spencer?” you ask quietly. 

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?” 

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?” 

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups. 

“Where are you?” 

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him. 

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.” 

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?” 

“Where was I?” 

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed. 

“Still where?” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.” 

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk. 

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.” 

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.” 

“…What?” 

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.” 

“I annoy people.” 

“You don’t annoy me.” 

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here. 

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?” 

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection. 

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?” 

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly. 

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?” 

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.” 

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says. 

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room. 

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark. 

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly. 

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!” 

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer. 

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask. 

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again. 

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.” 

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year. 

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.” 

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.” 

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!” 

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.” 

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly. 

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says. 

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway. 

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” 

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates? 

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess. 

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.” 

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol. 

“She kind of looked like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

“Is that why you make all your jokes?” 

“What jokes, babe?” 

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.” 

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” 

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.” 

“Spencer, you remember everything.” 

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.” 

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him. 

You’re happy to. 

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled. 

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse. 

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully. 

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally. 

“Can I come home with you?” he asks. 

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.” 

— — 

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.” 

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.” 

“So you want three?” 

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.” 

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time. 

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?” 

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him. 

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory. 

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that. 

The avocado is making him feel sick. 

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?” 

“I think I'm gonna throw up.” 

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes. 

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button. 

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.” 

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.” 

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.” 

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now. 

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said. 

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say. 

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again. 

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.” 

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. 

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask. 

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

[eclairemaire]

Meeting the Missus pt.3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Wife! Reader

Category: Fluff

Summary: The Team finds out Bob is married and wants to meet the missus.

Warnings: Reader is described very similarly to Rhea Ripley, Reader and Bob are very much in love, No mention of Y/N used, Southern Reader (she's like all southern ladies sweet like iced tea, but can knock you on your ass if she has too), Express mentions of reader and Bob's Child, Lemme know if I missed any.

Word Count: 1.3K

Notes: This is the third part of 'Meeting the Missus'. I'm genuinely so surprised at how many of you are reading this; it makes my heart swoon. I hope everyone enjoys!

Heading to the cafeteria for lunch, as soon as Bob sits down, he’s surrounded by the rest of the squad. Phoenix on his right, Fanboy on the left, Rooster across from Bob, Hangman across from Phoenix, Payback across from Fanboy, and Coyote on the other side of Hangman. All of them leaning towards him as though they were high school kids waiting for the newest piece of gossip. Fanboy was almost completely pressed against Bob’s side as he started to unpack his leftovers from last night’s dinner.

“So are we going to get to try any of your Missus’ lovely food at this cookout that you mentioned yesterday?” Fanboy asked as he ogled the food that looked mouth-wateringly good. Bob hummed as he got up to reheat his food, like a pack of strays, the rest of the squad started to get up to follow him to the microwave.

“You will,” he said non-committedly as he put the food in the microwave and started it up. Looking up and seeing the team still surrounding him, he quirked up a brow, “Don’t y’all need to go get your own food?” Watching with an amused glint as the team seemed to realize they did not, in fact, have any food of their own to eat for lunch yet, and seemed to scatter to retrieve their respective meals.

Meeting back at their table, Bob was quietly typing on his phone and smiling fondly while waiting. Once everyone arrived, he stowed his phone into one of the pockets of his uniform. “Missus has decided that the cookout will be next Saturday, you will be expected to bring food or drink, you don’t have to bring both, but if you want to, you can to get in my wife's good graces.” He said after finishing the first bite of his lunch, letting out a low hum of satisfaction at the flavor.

“So what can we expect from this cookout? Will there be games? Any more munchkins besides yours?” Hangman asked as he started to dig into his food, Coyote nodding along beside him.

“Is it going to be similar to the one Riley talked about from when you were stationed at Lemoore?” Phoenix drew her attention to Bob as he thought of an answer to the questions.

Deciding to answer Hangman first, “There will be games, board games, and some digital. Maybe some dogfight football if we’re lucky. As for other kids, I’m not sure,” there might be some of Rileys friends, but that entirely depends on whether you wanted to host a sleepover, which wasn’t likely; your social battery would be pretty drained after having so many people over all day. “ We’ll likely be eating lunch around one-ish, do games for a little bit afterwards, then Riley’ll konk out for like an hour and a half for a nap, and then it’ll just be us adults for a while.” Turning to face Phoenix, he answers her question.

“Yes, and no, none of our relatives are going to be here this time, and her friends likely aren’t either. It’ll be the same in the sense that it’s essentially a party of sorts, but with y’all instead of our families.” He stated while continuing to eat his food.

“Ok, so for food, does anyone have any allergies that might have detrimental effects if said allergen is ingested?” Fanboy asked as he examined the group and turned back towards Bob. Nos and nope's flowed from everyone's mouths after pondering for a moment. “Great!” he exclaimed, shifting back towards his food.

“Sounds like we’ve all got an idea what to expect. What time should we be there?” Rooster asked.

“Shoot for around 12:30, that way Missus can have a time to have everything fresh and hot to go,” Bob stated. 

After that conversation flowed as usual, talking about drills and other happenings going on throughout the base, and the day continued. 

Before leaving, Maverick pulled Bob aside, “What’s this I hear about a cookout?” he inquires as he looks at Bob with curiosity.

“Oh,” Bob fumbles briefly, “My wife and I are hosting a cookout next weekend, and we invited the squad over. Are you interested in coming as well, Mav?” Bob asks, while twiddling his thumbs behind his back at the sudden inquiry about personal plans.

“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to meet your wife, whom I’ve heard so much about from Penny. Is Amelia welcome to come as well?” He asks as he looks at Bob’s face. Bob relaxes, remembering that you get along quite well with Penny and have been mentioning wanting to introduce her to Riley

“That sounds like a good idea, sir. I’ll make sure to let her know that you all are coming as well.” Turning to leave, Bob remembers that he needs to tell Maverick to bring food or a drink. “Sir, please, bring a drink or food dish with you, otherwise my wife may not let you into our home.” He smiles sheepishly before heading to the parking lot. Once in his car, he messages everyone your home address and the date and time to be there. 

~

Arriving home followed a similar fashion as the day before, Bob was greeted first by Nuggs, who was eagerly awaiting pats, before almost being bulldozed by your second dog, Beans, who was significantly larger than Nuggs. Followed by a “Welcome home, Sweetheart,” being shouted from the direction of the kitchen. 

“We’re still making dinner,” you say as Bob enters the kitchen to see you sprinkling cheese over a pizza. “How was work?” you ask as you grab the pizza stone to put it into the oven. Riley runs over to Bob and gives his legs a squeeze and a big grin at him before going into the living room, where he then proceeds to hear the opening of ‘Magic School Bus’ play in the background.

“Good, everyone has a vague idea of what to expect for next Saturday,” He says, coming up behind you and wrapping you up in his arms, and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Mavrick heard about the cookout, I’m assuming Hangman and Rooseter were talking about it in the hangar,” He mumbles into your hair, as you hum as a response and turn to start cleaning up the kitchen while you wait for the pizza to cook, Bob clining to you like a koala all the way.

“Is he coming?” You ask as you continue to maneuver around the kitchen.

“Yeah, he asked if he, Penny, and Amelia could come. I told him yes, I figured you’d likely hear from Penny about what she plans on bringing,” he answered.

“Amelia's coming? That’s good, I wanted to meet her soon, plus I think she and Riley would get along quite well.” You finally finished cleaning up. Spinning around in Bob’s hold to lean him against the counter. You give him a kiss and a sweet smile.

“What do you plan on making for the cookout?” He asks, there's a teasing smile on his face, the one that makes his eyes crinkle just around the edges.

“You’ll find out with everyone else.” You giggle as he starts to pout just a little bit.

“But I’m your husband!” He squawks indignantly, starting to gain a flush in his cheeks.

“And you’ll find out with everyone else,” giving him a mischievous smile, as reach your hands around him to place them right below his ass, and with a firm grip you hoist him up and over your shoulder and start to head to the living room where your daughter resides. 

He lets out a harrumph and then proceeds to yell, “Riley, come save me! I’ve been captured by your mama!” Entering the living room, you hear a squeal from Riley followed by uncontrolled giggles, as she sees you with Bob slung over your shoulder.

“Da–Dad–Daddy,” giggles, interrupting her as she tried to speak, “I can’t help you, Mama’s too strong!”

“You Traitor!!” He yells in false devastation as he feigns going limp in your hold.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

a/n: I swear we will actually get to the cookout in the next part, but I'm a sucker for buildup and domestic family fluff. Thank you for reading, and see you in the next part!!

[cressidagrey]

Her Papa's Daughter

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Oscar never sees how similar his daughter is to him. But Felicity does. 

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

There were moments—small, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments—when Felicity would pause, tilt her head, and think: There he is. Right there, in her.

Oscar never saw it.

He adored Bee. Worshipped her, really. 

In that soft, steady, unobtrusive way of his. He looked at their daughter like she was something he’d never stop marveling at—like her brilliance was something that had skipped him entirely, a beautiful mystery he was lucky enough to witness up close.

But what he didn’t realize—what Felicity did—was that Bee hadn’t come out of nowhere.

She was Oscar.

In so many little ways.

Most people only saw the surface. They saw the same jet black hair that she had inherited from Felicity. They didn’t see that it had a wave to it, something that came from Oscar. 

They didn’t see that yes, Bee’s eyes were brown. But they weren’t Felicity’s eyes. Weren’t that near black, ebony colour. They were Oscar’s. Brown but lighter, honeyed around the edges. 

They saw Bee’s intelligence: bright, sparkling. A mind that was as quick as Felicity’s. But they didn’t dig deeper. 

They didn’t see all the ways Bee was just like her father. 

Bee was more Piastri than Leong.

Felicity thanked the universe for that every single day.

Because the Leong side—her side—came with expectations. With pressure. With rigid ambition and cold detachment masked as achievement. The Leongs  were achievement-obsessed. Hypercritical. Polished to the point of sterility. 

The Leongs taught efficiency. Precision. Perfection.

Bee had that in her too. She did.

But the goodness, the calm,  the innate kindness that ran deep in the Piastri blood was stronger. 

Felicity had always worried—before Bee was born—what pieces of herself she’d pass on.

 What her daughter might inherit from the Leong side that had tried to sculpt Felicity into a perfect silhouette of someone she never wanted to be.

But then Bee arrived.

Tiny and fierce. All wide eyes and sharp observation.  Born curious. Born soft in a way that felt like rebellion.

Bee was a Piastri. And Felicity loved that. 

Because it meant the best parts of Oscar—his calm, his heart, his quiet goodness—would live on in a little girl who walked through the world with grease on her cheeks and stars in her eyes.

Bee was just like her father. And Felicity saw it, even when nobody else did. 

Bee was Oscar’s in all the ways Felicity loved most.

Not his fame.

Not his skill behind the wheel.

But his gentleness.

His capacity to feel deeply, and quietly. 

Felicity saw it when Bee got quiet when she was upset—not loud, not tantrum-prone like other kids her age. No, she folded in, went silent. Let the weight of the world settle on her tiny shoulders without protest. Just like Oscar did when something hurt. When he’d had a bad race. When the pressure clawed too close to his ribs.

Bee would sit at the kitchen table with her arms folded and her jaw clenched, and Felicity would see Oscar at seventeen, post-race, staring down telemetry with his whole chest aching and no words to explain it.

It was in the way Bee needed time before she spoke.

How she'd pause when someone asked her a question, like she needed to sort through a hundred tabs open in her mind before landing on the right answer. Just like Oscar, who often went quiet in meetings, brows furrowed—not confused, just calculating. When Bee blinked a little too fast, the way Oscar did when he didn’t know how to say what he was feeling.

People mistook them both for passive.

They were anything but.

Oscar observed. He waited. Let others speak. Let the noise swirl around him until he could cut through it cleanly. Bee did the same thing on playgrounds, watching from the edge, fingers twitching, eyes sharp. Quiet didn’t mean confused. Quiet meant processing.

Then there was the focus.

Bee could spend hours rebuilding the same gear assembly in her toy kart, screwing and unscrewing bolts with total precision, refusing to be interrupted even for snacks. Felicity had once watched her spend 45 minutes trying to fix a hinge on the chicken coop door. She was two.

Oscar did the exact same thing with sim data.

He didn’t like being pulled out of his zone once he was in it. He got snappy—not mean, just tense, clipped, unmoored. Felicity knew the signs: the twitch in his jaw, the soft tap of his fingers on the edge of his laptop. Bee had the same twitch, the same tapping rhythm.

And of course, the perfectionism.

Oscar never called it that. He called it “standards.” “Attention to detail.” “Preparation.”

But Felicity had seen it for what it was. The way he double-checked tyre pressure notes, the way he rehearsed press answers under his breath, the way he panicked—silently—when he made a mistake, even one no one else noticed.

Bee was the same.

If a drawing didn’t go right, if the colors didn’t match what she imagined, she would stare at the page for hours. Sometimes she’d rip it in half without saying a word. Sometimes she’d just press her little lips together and walk away, quietly devastated.

Oscar would kneel beside her, rub her back, say, “It’s okay, Bumblebee. You can start again.”

Felicity never said it, but every time he did, she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

Because Bee got that from him.

So many things Bee loved—systems, precision, solitude—came from Felicity. But the rhythm of her quiet, the soft sadness she carried when people didn’t understand her, the way she tried so hard to do everything right? That was pure Oscar.

And he never saw it.

He thought he was just the snack-deliverer. The designated cheerleader. The safe arms she ran into when things were too loud.

He didn’t realize that Bee was him.

In the way she got quiet when something really mattered.

How the more she cared, the less she said.

Not because she didn’t feel it — but because she felt it too much.

Just like Oscar after a bad session. Silent. Shoulders tight. Needing a minute to fold the feeling small before he could put it down.

Felicity saw it in the way they both loved things quietly—with reverence, with care, with a steady kind of devotion that never demanded attention.

They were both meticulous.

Both patient in their own strange ways.

They made the same face when concentrating.

They both talked more when they were comfortable, when they felt safe.

And when they trusted someone—truly trusted them—they gave everything, all at once, like a flood.

 Bee stayed up too late sometimes, not because she was avoiding sleep, but because her brain just wouldn’t let go. She’d be lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, listing gear ratios or trying to solve the mystery of gravitational drag in her head.

Just like Oscar the night before a race, flat on his back in hotel beds, blinking at the ceiling while he rehearsed every apex in his mind.

His quiet heart. His careful mind. His silent, stubborn resilience.

Bee had inherited Oscar’s softness. His sensitivity. That quiet brilliance that didn’t need to be loud to be undeniable.

Felicity watched the two of them curled on the couch now, Bee half-asleep on his chest, Oscar absentmindedly playing with a piece of her hair while watching race replays with the volume low. His hand rested protectively against her back, and Bee’s tiny fingers were curled in his hoodie drawstring like it anchored her.

They were so alike it hurt.

Felicity reached for her phone, took a photo quietly—just for herself. Just to remember this.

And as she looked at it later, Bee dozing with the same soft frown Oscar wore when he was thinking, her lashes dark against his chest, Felicity smiled.

One day, maybe he’d see it.

One day, she’d tell him.

But for now, she’d keep watching the two halves of her heart mirror each other in quiet ways they didn’t even notice.

And love them all the more for it.

They were more than similar.

They were the same melody, just played in different keys.

And the sweetest thing?

Oscar didn’t even realize.

Felicity watched him watch Bee sometimes — that soft, stunned look he got when Bee said something too clever for her age or organized her toolbox with color-coded tabs — and he looked amazed. Like she was something brand new, unfathomable, impossible.

And all Felicity ever wanted to say was: She learned that from you. That’s your steadiness. Your stillness. Your careful mind.

But she didn’t.

She just smiled, and let him marvel.

Let him believe Bee was a little mystery he got to unravel piece by piece.

Let him love her for all the ways she was different.

Because one day, maybe he’d see it. All of it.

And when he did, he’d realize what Felicity had known all along:

That the little girl who preferred schematics to dolls and corners to crowds—

She was her Papa’s daughter.

Through and through.

[jjkamochoso]

How JJK Characters React to You Describing Them as Your Type When Todo Asks

Fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: pretend you’re in a huge group with all of the students present when this question was asked :) also, I went with the anime adaptation of the characters rather than the manga, just fyi!

There’s a part 2 here! in which you react to them describing you as their type :)

Yuji:

“Y/n! What kind of man is your type?”

“Yeah y/n, we wanna know!” Yuji said, excitedly. You figured there was no harm in sharing, Todo and the group were just looking for fun to distract them for a little bit.

“Okay, well I like guys that are average height, not too tall or short. Super strong, of course, with a cute, goofy smile. Oh, and colored hair is always fun too!”

“Oh man, he sounds so cool! If I find any guys that look like that, don’t worry, I’ll send them your way!” Shaking your head and laughing, you got into a conversation with Megumi while Nobara yanked Yuji out of your earshot.

“Yuji! Don’t you realize what y/n said?!”

He rested his chin in his fingers, deep in thought for a few moments before he answered.

“No? Should I have?”

Nobara didn’t hesitate to whack him on the top of the head.

“They literally described you, idiot! Don’t you own a mirror?!” Yuji’s mouth opened in a big smile. This was great news since he had a big crush on you!

“Y/n! I have to talk to you!”

Megumi:

“Y/n! What kind of man is your type?”

You sighed. You didn’t want to join Todo’s antics but you had no choice.

“You don’t have to answer him. It’s a stupid question anyway.”

Megumi’s voice came unexpectedly from behind you. You smiled inwardly at his protectiveness.

“I appreciate that Fushiguro, but I might as well. Let’s see. I like moody boys on the lankier side with dark black hair and dark blue eyes. He has to love animals too.”

You looked at Megumi to see if it registered that you were talking about him. All of a sudden, he sported a deep blush and excused himself from the group. Todo gave you a hearty smack on the back for your response.

“I’m proud of you for baring your soul like that to the one you love,” he said, tears rolling down his face. “Y/n, go get your man!”

You turned to look at your friends who all just shrugged their shoulders. Looks like you’re off to find Megumi then!

Nobara:

“Y/n! What kind of woman is your type?”

You had no hesitation answering this question, you loved to talk about things like this, gossip and crushes and the sort. Besides, it was time Nobara knew how you felt!

“I thought you’d never ask! I really like short girls with short hair. If it’s a vibrant color, that’s a plus. Spunky personalities are the best and I need someone who’ll keep up with me when I go shopping.”

Looking over at Nobara, you saw her jaw drop and you knew she understood what you were getting at.

“Y/n! You liked me and you never told me?! This whole time?!” she shouted, running towards you. You didn’t know whether she was going to hit or kiss you so you took off running as well. Gotta love the feisty girls!

Maki:

“Y/n! What kind of woman is your type?”

“This stupid question again?” grumbled Maki. You were a bit nervous to reply to Todo. You had a huge crush on Maki but she was, well, intimidating, to say the least. To be fair, so was Todo, and you heard what happened to Fushiguro so you went with the safest bet.

“I like girls who are on the taller side and insanely strong. Light eyes, dark hair. Straight to the point, always. And uh… glasses.”

Maki hadn’t moved a muscle and you cringed, fearing the worst. Best case scenario, she would ignore you ever said that. Worst case, she’d beat you up. When she came over and grabbed you by the collar of your shirt, you gulped.

“Y/n. We’re talking about this somewhere else.”

(Spoiler alert: when you were somewhere else, you kissed🤭)

Inumaki:

“Y/n! What kind of man is your type?”

Todo was on your last nerve. Sure, he seemed nice enough, but why should you be expected to tell everyone your personal business like this? In front of both schools’ students, no less! When you were filled in on what happens when you don’t answer truthfully, you resigned to the fact that you were exposing your true feelings to everyone today, whether you liked it or not.

“I like shorter men, preferably with medium length blonde hair, and bright purple eyes. He doesn’t talk much but more than makes up for it with his top tier sense of humor.” You noticed that Inumaki never broke his gaze from you as you spoke. You shuffled over to where he was sitting to explain yourself, but this time it was you who couldn’t find the right words.

“Mustard leaf?” Inumaki broke the silence first, basically asking you what was wrong since you marched over there and hadn’t said a thing.

“Look, Toge, I’m sorry if I—”

He tugged on your sleeve, stopping you. In his hands was a note that read, “I like you too” with a little smiley face at the end.

Yuta:

“Y/n! What kind of man is your type?”

You weren’t sure how to answer Todo. On one hand, you didn’t want to expose your crush on Yuta. On the other, would be it so bad for the truth to be out there? He was a kind person that wouldn’t drop your friendship if he didn’t feel the same way.

“I really like average height guys with longer dark hair and big, dark blue eyes. Personality wise he has to be extremely loyal and caring. Oh, and good with a sword.”

“Sooo… Yuta?” questioned Panda, and you nodded in agreement, your face warming with a blush.

“Wait, me? Really?” Yuta’s eyes lit up as he broke out into a hopeful smile. You nodded again.

“Oh man, that’s great!” he exclaimed, and then sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve liked you for awhile too and I just thought maybe you didn’t feel the same but you do! Which is amazing!” You laughed softly at his rambling. This school year just got a whole lot better!

Gojo:

“Y/L/N sensei! What kind of man is your type?”

“Todo, isn’t that wildly inappropriate to ask your superior?” you answered, a joking tone present.

“Maybe, but we’re curious! Please, sensei?”

“Yeah, sensei! It’s just for fun” Yuji chimed in.

“And it’s a team building exercise to know something so personal! You’re always saying we need to communicate better,” added Nobara. You rolled your eyes playfully.

“I meant that to be an exercise among you children, not me. But I will entertain this for only a moment, so listen carefully,” you told the group and they cheered like their favorite baseball player hit a home run. As you were about to spill your secret, you spotted Satoru leaning against a wall, clearly interested in the secret you were about to spill.

“I like super tall men who are lean but extremely strong. He has to be very funny and goofy but with a kind heart. White hair and striking blue eyes are also a must.”

Maki’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets as she exclaimed, “You like that blindfolded idiot?!”

As the kids clamored at the newfound information, Gojo took that time to approach you and the students.

“Excuse me everyone, but me and my new lover must depart,” he announced, taking your hand dramatically while leading you away to laugh at what just happened.

Noritoshi:

“Y/n! What kind of man is your type?”

You groaned. You really didn’t want Noritoshi to know about your infatuation with him. It was no secret that he had more important things to deal with than schoolyard crushes so you were afraid to confess in case it made him uncomfortable—or worse, dislike you!

“You don’t have to answer the immature question, y/n,” Noritoshi spoke up when he noticed your discomfort. You were grateful for him but you wanted to keep the peace among your classmates and judging by the death glare Todo sent to you two, you’d better start talking.

“Thank you Kamo, but I value harmony among friends so I will answer this for Todo’s amusement only. I like tall men with a bit longer dark hair and gray eyes. Having an honorable character and being good with a bow is the way to my heart.” You felt Noritoshi tense up next to you and you refused to look at him out of fear of rejection. He took you by surprise when he leaned over ever so slightly to whisper to you.

“I was caught off guard by your confession but I can’t say I don’t feel the same. Can we discuss this later?”

Todo:

“Y/n! What kind of man is your type?”

Your eyes went wide when Todo’s booming voice reached your ears. You were super into him but no one knew. You knew you couldn’t fool him with a fake answer, though, and if you were going to feel his hand for the first time, you’d rather it be from holding it with your own than having it curled in a fist and connecting with your face.

“Um… I like men that are extremely tall and buff. Dark hair, tan skin. And passionate, of course.”

“Hm! That’s a great answer! He sounds hot,” replied Todo, smirking, “but unfortunately for that perfect fake man, I’m taking you on a date first because you’re my type!”

You definitely weren’t expecting this!

Mai:

“Y/n! What kind of woman is your type?”

You rolled your eyes. This big oaf is going to jeopardize your friendship for sure. You really liked Mai but you figured she wasn’t into dating and all the lovey dovey stuff.

“Do I have to answer?” you asked, praying Todo had a change of heart.

“No, y/n, we all wanna know. What’s your type?” Mai chimed in, a sly grin on her face. You gulped.

“I… like women that have short, dark hair and dark eyes. If she’s taller than average that’s cool, and I love a snarky personality.”

“No way!” exclaimed Momo when she realized who you were talking about. You refused to look anyone in the eyes out of embarrassment and fear. What you weren’t expecting was Mai grabbing your hand and leading you somewhere else. Hopefully it was to talk and not get beat up!

Momo:

“Y/n! What kind of woman is your type?”

You huffed in annoyance. There were always some sort of antics with this guy! You had liked Momo for awhile now but she was like an enigma to you. You could never get a good read on her so maybe telling her how you felt outright would be a good thing?

“I really like girls with blonde hair and blue eyes, and short, too. Having a cute personality is a plus as well,” you answered, hoping that was straightforward enough.

“Wait a minute, that sounds exactly like me!” Momo exclaimed, blushing slightly. You sheepishly nodded your head.

“Because it is. I have a crush you.”

The whole group erupted in a chorus of “aww’s” and “how adorable.” You were nervous that you had accidentally made her uncomfortable but your fears disappeared as she came over to sit next to you. When the students were distracted by another topic, you felt Momo’s hand rest over so slightly on top your own and you knew you made the right decision to confess.

Miwa:

“Y/n! What kind of woman is your type?”

Before you spoke, you met eyes with Miwa. It almost seemed as if she was anxious to hear what you had to say!

“Girls with dark blue eyes and are average height are my type. I also really like girls with kind hearts and are down to earth. Blue hair isn’t too bad, either,” you finished, smiling nervously. Both of you were blushing messes while Mai scoffed “Get a room!” Your classmates were just happy that the secret was out in the open—they were tired of you two dancing around your feelings for each other!

[moonstruckme]

mae my lovely, can i possibly request emt!marauders and reader who hasn’t replied to any texts in a few days/a week? pre-established relationship but not quite living together, and reader struggles with her mental health and has holed herself up in her apartment which worries the boys greatly? please don’t write if you feel uncomfortable (and if you’ve already written it but i’ve devoured emt!marauders today and i don’t think you have) obviously!! love you

Thank you for requesting my love! And thanks to @ellecdc for helping me figure out the emt stuff <3

cw: mental health struggles, self isolation

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

Sirius’ knuckles rap loudly on your door. 

“Fuck, ease up.” James winces. “She’s gonna think we’re the cops.” 

“Good. Maybe she’ll answer for them.” 

“You need to calm down.” Remus’ voice is patience with a firm edge. “We don’t know what’s going on. If we go in angry with her, it’s not going to help anything.” 

“I think I have the right to be somewhat miffed,” Sirius argues. “You ghost someone after a first date, not once you’re in a relationship. It’s fucked.” 

“She’s not ghosting us,” James says certainly. Sirius’ mouth pinches in response.

James knows that, truly, his boyfriend is as worried as any of them. You’re well past the point in your relationship where you feel the need to establish the next time you’re going to meet before parting, but after your date last week it took the boys a few days to put it together that none of them had heard from you. 

At first, James presumed you’d simply gotten busy. Remus was convinced he’d done something to upset you. Sirius, secretly the most prone to worry, would rather believe he’s been slighted than consider the possibility that something might be keeping you from responding to their calls. Now that it’s been nearly a week, James is convinced something’s happened. You’ve had to take an emergency trip out of town or something’s spooked you and made you avoid them or—worst case scenario—you’re ill and have been holed up here with no one to check in on you for almost a week. 

Once he brought up that idea, it wasn’t difficult to convince his boyfriends to do a wellness check during their shift. 

“Just don’t be harsh with her,” Remus says gently. 

Sirius huffs. He knocks again, albeit somewhat softer. 

“NHS,” he calls. 

James holds his breath when he hears some shuffling from inside. Gradually, it gets closer and louder, until the door is creaking open and you’re peering through the crack. 

Your voice is scratchy, like you haven’t used it in a while. “What’re you doing here?”

James expects Sirius to snipe at you, is already prepared to smooth it over himself with kinder words and a gentler tone, but something seems to shift in the other boy at the sight of you. He pushes through the crack in your door, hugging you fiercely. 

“We…” Remus seems as thrown by this deviation as James is. “We thought we ought to check up on you.” 

Your hand migrates up, touching Sirius’ back tentatively. “Why?”

“It’s a wellness check.” Sirius’ voice is bitter, but the effect is somewhat muddled by how he’s speaking into your neck. “We had reason to believe you could be harmed or deceased.” 

“Oh,” you murmur. 

James takes a moment to look you over. You’re in pajamas, visibly rumpled, and yet you look as tired as if you’ve not slept in some time. There’s something off about your expression, something missing that he can’t put his finger on. It’s unsettling in a way that makes him want to wrap you up in a tight cuddle and not let go. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, perhaps more brash than he means to be. Normally he’d expect more tact from himself, but he’s shocked Sirius hasn’t asked yet, and someone has to.

“Can we come in?” Remus asks at the same time. 

You look between them like you’re not sure what to do with them. Like you’re questioning whether you’re still in some sort of dream. 

“Yeah,” you say after a moment. James gets the sense you mean it to answer both of them. You step back from the door to make room for them, and Sirius moves with you. “Um, forewarning, it’s really bad in here.” 

Really bad by your standards isn’t the same as James’. If he hadn’t seen the way you normally keep things, he’d never notice anything was amiss. Your place smells a bit stale, like when you leave for a weekend and then come home. There’s a laundry basket on the floor with a few balled socks like you’d started to fold them and given up, and if he peers into your bedroom he can see a small trash pile on your floor and the covers of your bed all twisted up. It’s no worse than his side of the dorm he’d shared with Remus and Sirius in school. 

“What happened?” Sirius asks you. His voice sounds clearer now, and James focuses back in to find that he’s let you go enough to press his forehead to yours. His brow and lips are pinched. “Why have you been avoiding us?” 

James is nearly overcome by the desire to kiss him and rub his back, but he decides to let you have the honor, if you want it. 

You look unsure whether you do. 

“I’m sorry.” The words seem scraped out from some aching part of you. “I wasn’t trying to.” 

“Then why didn’t you answer our calls?” Sirius’ tone matches yours for desperation. Remus’ expression twinges compassionately. 

“I couldn’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“Sirius,” Remus chides softly. 

Your shoulders are slumped, but when Sirius moves away you seem to droop further. He’s only giving you space, his expression far from unkind. 

“Why couldn’t you pick up, dove?” Remus asks gently. 

“I…” Your eyes meander the floor. “I didn’t know what to talk about. And then my phone died, and it was just easier. I’m really sorry.” 

“Is talking to us really that bad?” Sirius is clearly making an attempt at joking, but the heartache underlying his words is unmissable. 

“No,” you sigh. “I’m just not really fit for the world right now. I didn’t want you to worry.” 

James’ ribs hurt at your admission, but he feels himself nodding. Even if he doesn’t know exactly what it is you’re dealing with, he’s familiar with people who think they’re somehow so damaged they don’t deserve to engage with anyone or anything. Sirius was like that once. Remus even more often. He sees the recognition on both of their faces now, pity and love and regret all tangled up into one messy thing. 

“Well, it was a noble effort,” says James, giving you a small smile, “but you can’t stop us worrying. Can I hug you?”

You nod, making an effort towards returning his smile. It’s a half-hearted, flickering thing, but he appreciates it nonetheless. 

He kisses your forehead as he folds you into his arms, starting gentle and tightening when you hug him back. Your grip feels a bit weak, if ardent. James pushes his palm up your spine. 

“Have you eaten today, sweetheart?” 

Your hum in the negative vibrates against his skin. 

“I’ll make us something.” Remus starts toward the kitchen, passing a hand over James’ curls as he goes by. “A sandwich alright, dovey?” 

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t mention it.” His voice raises as he enters the kitchen, and James knows he wants you to hear. To understand that this is something he would happily do for you. 

“Let’s sit down,” James suggests. “Pads, would you mind opening the curtains some?” 

Sirius complies with vigor, whipping open your drapes while James gets you situated on the couch. In the light, the shadows under your eyes are more evident, as is the redness in them. 

James squishes you up against his side. Rubs up and down your arm. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. 

You make a tiny, stymied sound, and turn your head down. 

“Hey.” Sirius sits on your other side. He kisses your shoulder, worry hewn into the lines of his face. “What’s wrong?” 

Your shoulders give a little shake. It’s small, defeated. You curl further in on yourself. 

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.” 

“You don’t have to explain,” James tells you, continuing to drag his hand up your arm. “It’s okay. You’re alright.” 

“I wanted—” You take in a wet inhale. He feels close to tears himself. “I wanted to be better when I saw you. I’m sorry.” 

“We don’t need you to be any sort of way, sweetheart.” Sirius’ voice is soft but fervent. “We just want to be with you.”

“As much as you’ll let us,” James agrees. His own voice is thick, and Sirius slides his arm around you to rub between his shoulders. 

You don’t say much after that. James holds you tight until your trembling stops, and even then he only loosens his grip to let you eat the grilled cheese Remus has made for you. From the wrappers he saw in your room, it’s likely the closest thing to a prepared meal you’ve had in some time. 

When you’re done eating, Sirius insists on kissing the saltiness from your cheeks even though your tears have dried. Remus coaxes you into a bath while James and Sirius tidy your room and change your sheets, and then Remus enlists Sirius to shampoo your hair while he tucks your sheets in more effectively. They put your phone on the charger. James makes dinner and puts it in the fridge for you to have later. None of it fixes anything, but he hopes it makes you feel less alone. 

When they have to go out for another call, Remus gives you a long hug, James makes you agree to go on a walk with him the next day, and Sirius threatens to pester you with calls until you block his number if you ignore them ever again. 

Your eye roll at his antics makes James’ heart sing.

[fgumi]

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ THE BETTER

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 { PAIRING; jungwon x reader, GENRE; fluff, one shot, WC; 2.3k, A/N; i almost scrapped this... i hope it's as cutie as i tried to make it... special shoutout to @hoonieyun because i finished this with her encouragement. also! tysm for 500+ followers! you guys are so kind. ilysm. }

what kind of girlfriend would yang jungwon have?

the answer seems obvious enough.

someone as kind and pure as jungwon deserved someone just as sweet. someone who smiled as brightly as he did, whose eyes sparkled like his did–someone that radiated the same loveable energy that attracts everyone to him.

but, in reality? you, as jungwon’s current (and first) girlfriend, were sort of a far cry from jungwon.

you weren’t cruel by any means, but you were blunt. you hated sugarcoating words and definitely didn’t go out of your way to make people feel comfortable. if people asked for your input, they should be expecting your straightforward, honest answers—not your fault if they didn’t like it.

if people compared jungwon to ragdoll cat—likeable, friendly, and cute—they’d probably say you’re like the black cat that’s historically considered unlucky and an omen. but, somehow, you two worked.

of course, people were always questioning your relationship.

when you two worked at the same cafe during your college years, there was a clear difference in how you treated customers. you weren’t particularly rude, just not cheerful like jungwon.

“i have two iced lattes for kiki!” jungwon happily shouted, pushing the two drinks out. the girl who picked up her shyly smiled at jungwon, only wavering when she noticed your dead stare at her. after that, she hurriedly away to her friend. you watched as they both giggled and glanced at jungwon wiping down the espresso machines.

“you’re too friendly,” you sipped your drink, glaring at the bashful girls.

jungwon smiled and turned to you with a teasing look. “it’s why i make more tips than you.”

you rolled your eyes, leaning back on the counter. jungwon placed himself next to you after throwing the rag in the bucket.

“you seem grumpier than usual,” jungwon poked at your side. “anything i can do to make it better?”

“be less cute,” you muttered, words slightly disappearing in your drink.

jungwon laughed before peaking his head into your view. you immediately softened at his pretty face.

“if i were any less cute, you wouldn’t put up with me.”

you snorted as you chucked your empty cup into the bin. you busied yourself, organizing the misplaced powders and syrup bottles. jungwon followed a step behind you, weaving from either side of you to get your attention. when he stuck his face too close to yours, you pushed him away before glancing around you.

“we’re at work,” you whispered.

jungwon shrugged. “it’s not like the boss doesn’t know. i told him that i applied because of you.”

before you could reply, the same girl—kiki—came up to the counter. you stepped forward.

“what’s up?”

she frowned ever so slightly before clearing her throat. “do you think i could talk to the other barista?”

you raised your eyebrow. “i could help you just as much as he can.”

her lips formed a straight line before jungwon cut in. “how can i help you?”

you resisted letting your eyes roll for the nth time, returning to organizing the counter.

“i was wondering if you were free after your shift?”

you barely managed to disguise your laugh as a cough. jungwon pouted at you before looking back at her. “i’m actually getting lunch with my girlfriend! she’s been wanting to try this new brunch place and i promised to take her.”

the girl blinked, disappoint clear on her face. “oh. i hope you enjoy your lunch then.”

before you could move further away, jungwon pulled you into his side with a bright smile. “we will!”

disappoint made way for shock, her eyebrows raised. she didn’t say anything more, returning to her friend who excitedly awaited for news. you could see them exchange words before glancing back at you and jungwon, who was still holding onto you. you pushed yourself free and flicked his forehead.

jungwon winced at the twinge of pain and rubbed the spot. “hey! you’d think you’d be proud of me for mentioning you within 10 seconds of the conversation.”

“i told you we’re at work,” you lightly scolded. “do you want to get us fired?”

“the boss would never fire me,” jungwon cheekily said.

you knew it was true, so you just declined to respond. you made your way around the counter, choosing to clear dirty dishes and wipe down tables. jungwon shook his head smiling and finished up the work you left behind.

“that’s his girlfriend? no way. she’s like– a bitch.”

your ears twitched. you’re used to this unfortunately. from strangers to friends to family, everyone couldn’t believe that someone as sweet as jungwon would be with someone like you—someone a little mean (though, you resent that because you’d like to think you’re nice to people… you like).

“right? i don’t get it. she looked like she was ready to rip my head off for just ordering. like—sorry for making you do your job.”

“he deserves so much better.”

you agreed. not that you’d ever voice that to jungwon again. you say again because, in the early stages of your relationship, jungwon made it very clear that it doesn’t matter what anyone else thought—you were the better everyone wanted for him. you didn’t really see it but, after seeing how upset he’d get during those conversations, you stopped bringing it up.

you clenched your jaw, fingers gripping the dirty dishes, as you walked to the back. when you returned to the front, jungwon stopped you with a small smile and covered your ears. you frowned in confusion.

“don’t listen to them,” jungwon murmured, removing his hands for your ears to tuck the stray hairs behind your ear. “you’re exactly who i want to be with for the rest of my life.”

a blush burned your cheeks. maybe, just this once, you will ignore what others are saying.

it didn’t stop there though. those types of comments followed you into your adult life.

you made quite the reputation for yourself in your office. you were ambitious from the start and managed to make your way into a team leader position pretty early on in your career. but, it didn’t come without some office rumors about your character.

y/n’s harsh. she’s so cruel. i heard she blackmailed the manager for her position. y/n will rip you apart for any minor mistakes. interns, beware. the list goes on. you felt like they were unwarranted. what else did they expect in a high-profile company? your clients expected quality work that was free of mistakes. of course you were going to point out flaws. again, was your delivery cushy and sweet? no. but, they shouldn’t expect criticisms wrapped in pretty words.

their… opinions weren’t limited to work though. when jungwon stopped by your office to pick you up for lunch, they had plenty to say.

“hey,” he greeted cheerfully, stepping into the room with that effortless charm that drew everyone’s attention. your coworkers peered from their desks curiously, wondering how you interact with this stranger.

you glanced up from your desk, surprised to see him. “what are you doing here?”

“i finished all my errands early and thought i’d take you out to lunch,” he said, tilting his head cutely. “i can wait for you to finish up!”

you nodded, glancing at the papers on your desk. “give me 15 minutes.”

he gave you a thumbs up before softly whistling, looking around the office. jungwon walked over to the wall of excellent employees and grinned at your pictures hanging. he glanced at your coworkers, some having returned to their work. curious, he peaked over one of their shoulders. they jumped a little after noticing his presence.

he smiled sheepishly. “sorry.”

within minutes, he has the whole office laughing with him. when you finished reviewing the last proposition, you were met with the sight. you smiled softly. jungwon never failed to impress you with his ability to charm people.

you got up from your desk and walked over. “hey, i’m ready if you are.”

your coworkers’ laughs died down at your presence, a couple creeping back to their desks.

“i was just telling them about the first time we met!” jungwon laughed.

your eyebrow quirked. “when you fell into the fountain?”

he nodded as he reached to carry your bag. “still hard to believe you agreed to go on a date with me after that.”

you could practically hear the gears turning in your coworkers’ heads as they processed his words.

“you’re her boyfriend?” one asked.

jungwon grinned, clutching the straps of your bag. “yup! i’m a lucky man.”

“i think she’s the lucky one,” someone muttered under their breath.

you sighed and pulled jungwon towards the elevator, choosing to ignore their comment to go get lunch faster. jungwon waved goodbye as you entered the elevator.

before the elevators fully closed, you could make out someone saying, “someone as terrible as her with someone as kind as hi–”

you shut your eyes, performing breathing exercises you learned at the company’s mental health seminar. you could feel jungwon pull you into his arms before he peppered kisses all over your face. his attacks didn’t stop until you were giggling from how his kisses tickled.

“they don’t know anything,” he said, planting a final kiss on your lips. “they don’t know about how my girlfriend is the kindest person al–”

you covered his mouth before you exited the elevator. “not so loud. can’t have people knowing i’m a softie.”

jungwon kissed the palm of your hand, clasping it with his own as you walked out of the building. after years of being with jungwon, his pro-y/n propaganda got through to you, much to his delight.

but, even after all those years, jungwon’s friends still didn’t understand your dynamic.

“okay, real talk,” jake said during a game night at your apartment, gesturing between the two of you. “how do you two even work?”

“what do you mean?” jungwon asked, tilting his head like a confused puppy.

“dude, you’re like the nicest guy i know—i’m talking nicer than the grandmas that feed pigeons—and y/n is…” jake trailed off, glancing at you nervously.

“go on. say it,” you droned with no real heat, crossing your arms.

“intimidating? but, you know, in a cool, really chic way,” jake said quickly.

jungwon laughed and wrapped his arms around you. “it works because she likes me just the way i am. a nice loser that is way too nice sometimes.”

sunghoon’s eyebrows furrowed. “blink three times if you’re scared.”

jungwon puffed his cheeks in annoyance. “she’s not scary, man. she’s the sweetest, shyest, prettiest, most lovable–”

you covered his mouth, your face burning in embarrassment. “that’s enough.”

jungwon pulled away from your hand with the biggest grin. “see?”

jake snorted and nudged sunghoon. “maybe jungwon’s the one scaring her.”

you all laughed and, tactfully, they never questioned you guys again.

sometimes, though, it still bothered you. why was jungwon—someone who was sunshine-incarnate—with you–grumpy in female form?

one night, as the two of you cleaned up after a dinner party, you asked him directly.

“why do you put up with it?” you asked, your voice quieter than usual.

jungwon looked up the dishes, bubbles somehow making their way onto his hair. “put up with what?”

“all the comments,” you said, rearranging the centerpiece. “the questions. people saying you could do better…”

he frowned and shut off the water, shaking off the gloves. “do you still think there’s better than you?”

you hesitated, caught off guard by his sincere stare. “it crosses my mind from time to time?”

jungwon shook his head, stepping towards you and pulling your hands into his. “there isn’t,” he said firmly. “there’s no one in this world better for me than you.”

you tried to pull away, feeling ashamed for feeling this way after all these years, but he held on.

“i like that you don’t pretend to be someone you’re not,” he continued. “i like that you’re honest, even when the truth is hard to hear. and i like that you don’t care about flattering others, because it means even more when you do compliment people.”

your chest tightened, his words sinking into the cracks you tried so hard to hide.

“i also like that you don’t care if people know how truly kind you are, because i know. i see it every day. i see it in the way you prepare my morning coffee, even though you’re the one that has to go to work. i see it in the way you put yourself in between the street and grandmas, in case something happens. i see it in the way you keep working after everyone’s clocked out to make sure your proposition doesn’t get rejected. i see it. i see you.”

at this point, tears blurred your vision. “but, you can do so much better,” you muttered, blinking the tears away.

“you are that better. you make me wanna be better,” he said with a grin, pulling you into a hug. “it’s okay if the world keeps talking. it gives me an excuse to fire back and talk about my super cool girlfriend.”

a laugh escaped you as you rubbed your face into his chest, a smile creeping onto your face. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you love me for it.”

you really did. you loved him so much. but, according to jungwon, probably not as much as he loved you.

so, what kind of girlfriend would yang jungwon have?

someone who challenged him to be better. someone who didn’t sugarcoat things, who kept him grounded. someone who loved him so fiercely, even if they didn’t think they should be the one receiving his love. where others saw questions, he saw answers. you were it for him. and, hopefully, the ring sitting in his desk drawer was enough to prove it to you.

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction. ✧ comments and reblogs are appreciated! ✧ give my other works a read too! come chat! (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

tagged; @en-dream @heeheesang @bamguetismee @httpenhoon @r1kification

[nezuscribe]

𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: you have everything you could have asked for in life. a beautiful home in greenwhich, just far away from london so that you don't have to mingle with city life, but close enough to be surrounded by the ton. a library with all the books you could ask for and a friend you care for dearly. all except for the man of your dreams, who just so happens to be your best friends brother. worst of all, he only sees you as such. his sisters best friend. (bridgerton!au)

warnings: 18+ mdni, gojo doesn't know how to communicate his feelings, slight angst (with comfort), smut, eating out (fem! receiving), fingering, (happy ending)

word count: 17.3k+ (i have no idea how)

note: yes, this is inspired by penelope and colin. yes, i know that colin isn't a viscount. their story is coming out later than expected so i took matters into my own hands. tysm @jadeisthirsting for beta reading! (if you saw this the first time no you didn't, i hope tumblr doesn't glitch out again)

jjk masterlist

You had a great life, as far as it went. 

You were born into a wealthy family, far more wealthy than they deserved to be. You had maids at your beck and call and did not need to worry about the future as long as you acted correctly. You had book upon books, as many as you could dream of, so long as you didn’t bore your mother too much with them. You had any sort of food you could dream of and you had the most caring friend in the world who loved you very much. 

Honestly, what more could a woman ask for?

“I say we move the whole ordeal to Friday, seeing how Satoru is only arriving on Wednesday. But my mother insisted that we keep in on Thursday because the rest of London just couldn’t wait to see my dashing brother…” Lily continued her furious rant as she paced back and forth the vast expanse of your family’s drawing room, shaking her head in clear frustration. 

“And you want it to be a day later…because…?” You sipped quietly on your tea, trying to keep your smile at a minimum. It was hard not to get giggly when Lily’s face got red and her eyes bugged out of her sockets. For such a pretty girl it tended to shift her features whenever she got angry or annoyed. 

“Well, he’s going to be tired!” She stopped her pacing as she stared at you with her mouth a bit open as if it were the most obvious answer, “And whenever Satoru is tired he’s so difficult to deal with. He’s going to want to talk about his travels for at least three days before he’s ready to mingle with the rest of the works!” 

You nodded heavily, showing her that you were completely on her side. 

“Has he written to you?” She asked and then quickly shook her head, despite the fact you were going to answer with a quiet yes to her question. He had written you a few letters, all of them stashed in your vanity as you read over them, each going over his travels, sometimes sending you little knick-knacks he saw. 

“Not the point. What I’m trying to say is that my mother always goes over the limit with how much she welcomes her children. And Satoru for that matter! Christ, he’s twenty-five and unmarried!” 

You wanted to sink into your seat in embarrassment. You were only so much younger and had never had even an interaction with a suitor before. 

Life was great, for the most part. 

As much as you couldn’t complain, there was a small matter at hand that was growing increasingly more alarming the more the years went on. 

For as long as you could remember, you and Lily were set on never getting married. Ever since she read that one Jane Austen book she was hellbent on independence and no men. You tagged along, seeing how that was a better excuse than admitting no man had even asked you to join him to be his partner to dance before.

Lily didn’t seem to care much for this. While she was set on her celibacy pact, she had been approached before. It doesn’t change much, but it did at least show her that somebody wants her. You were either such as a spinster or married to some ancient man your mother had to dig out from some corner of the market. 

“And Satoru…” Lily rambled on, but all it did was remind you of an even worse fact. 

You were terribly in love with her brother. 

You have known the Gojo family for ten years, five months, twelve days, and two hours, and you have been in love with Gojo Satoru for ten years, five months, twelve days, and thirty minutes. 

Their family had immigrated from Japan months before the oldest child was born, but they had only moved to Greenwich ten years, five months, and ten days ago. You met them only two days later when you accidentally wandered into their gardens, unknowing that a family had just moved in. 

The first time you met that particular Gojo, you were thirteen and facing serious issues with yourself and your own family. You wanted to move to America in hopes that the boys over there would fancy you more and your mother forbade it. Satoru laughed when he saw your horrified face popping up from their blackberry bush, definitely not expecting to see anybody there. 

“Hello there,” the stranger called out. You thought he was a grandfather with the way his hair was artic white, but he only seemed to be a bit older than you the closer he got. 

“I’m not stealing from you I swear!” You cried out as you let the blackberries tumble out of your stained hands. You cannot be taken to prison, you simply wouldn’t survive. 

“I can see that.” He crossed his arms as he tried not to laugh at the way your dress was stained a dark blue color. 

He introduced himself, and Lily, and soon, you and the girl were attached at the hip. 

It didn’t help that as kind and as charming as he was, he only saw you as his sister's closest friend. It also didn’t help that every other woman in high society seemed to be in love with the man and it certainly made it so much more horrific that he seemed to have his eyes on everybody else but you. 

He, much like his sister, was averse to the idea of marriage, but for a completely different reason. 

He seemed to despise the idea of being committed, which is most likely why he had been traveling the entirety of Europe and Asia for the past year or so. Despite his mother’s frantic worrying about setting him up with a respectable lady, he pushed them all aside and fled (in some sense) and will be making his grand appearance a couple of days from now. Everybody is chattering with excitement. You’re trying not to fill with total impending dread. 

It had already taken everything you had to pretend that he didn’t exist and that he had simply disappeared, and you knew your wretched mind would fall for him just as quickly as it did the first time around when you were set to see him next week. 

“...and, are you even listening?” Lily asked, her voice garbling back to life as you snapped your eyes back to hers, covering your mouth with your teacup as you insistently nodded, trying to keep your smile from faltering as she squinted her eyes to look you over and see what was wrong.

“I’m totally in tune with you Lils,” you insisted, nibbling on a cookie to help you with nausea which only seemed to make it worse. 

“Hm,” she grunted, not seeming to believe you but not truly caring as she continued, “And thank the heavens you’ll be there beside me, for who knows what would become of me in such an unruly crowd of men and women just waiting for my brother to make his entrance. I’d lose my sanity.” 

Yes, you thought, how lucky. If only love worked that way, of ignoring it until it faded. If only.

“I’ll be there.” You promised. 

For better or for worse, you’d be there. 

---

The ball was just as you had imagined it. 

Extravagant, elegant, large, and incredibly crowded. 

One of the perks of being an outsider in these sorts of scenes is you didn’t have to dance anymore (no matter how much it stung the first time around getting used to this fact). 

Lily was off somewhere, being forced to socialize. Your other sisters were also lost in the crowd, either dancing or being swooned by a potential match. 

You were yet to see the man of the hour, but then again, so was everybody else. He was either hiding away or being swallowed whole by the hoards of people eager to get a glimpse of him. 

Not that you wanted to see him, of course. Just curious. 

The food was, as always, a bonus. Nobody was going to judge you for scarfing anything down when you had begrudgingly sworn off marriage, and perhaps one of the good things about Lily's pact was that you didn’t care much about the public eye anymore. 

“Please, at least act like we’re not starving you.” Your mother pleaded, unfortunately, stuck to your side for the night as she eyes you and your plate. 

“I’m trying my best,” you reasoned, making sure you didn’t drop anything on your dress. 

“The Viscount is coming tonight,” she tried to think and you snorted, earning some distasteful looks from the widows around you. 

“And he’s just dying to see me, I suppose?” You rolled your eyes at the idea, to help the sting from your own words. It was better to be rationable than to be delusional. 

“Well it doesn’t hurt to-”

“Try?” You cut her off with another laugh as you chew on an eclair, “Might as well. Right after the Princess introduces herself I’ll go up.” The two of you eye the girl in the diamond-encrusted gown with an equally bright tiara on her head. Your mother gave up the argument. 

For the last couple of days, you have been at a mental war with yourself. On the one hand, it surely must mean something if he wrote you letters. On the other one, he wrote it to his entire family and he probably views you as such. No matter how much you want to pretend that the Gojo cares for you, it won’t be in the same way that measures how much you care for him. 

“I’m going to get some more of these macaroons, I’ll be right back.” You excuse yourself as your mother pressed her lips into a thin line, wanting to push you to dance but knowing no amount of persuading was going to change your mind when it was already set on something. 

Wading through the dense crowd was certainly a feat, but you did it nonetheless. From the dessert table, you could barely make out the pop of chartreuse that was Lily's gown, and you wondered how much longer until she’d be free to giggle and gossip with you. 

Your eyes scanned over the little sweets carefully as you mentally weighed which one would taste good and which one would be a surprise in the kindest sense of the word. The colorful ones were often pretty but they tested either too bland or too bitter and the ones with caramel side sugar tended to be too sweet. All the good macaroons with the pistachio filling were gone, which was odd because you could only count on your fingers how many people aside from you tended to favor that one. 

“Looking for something?”

A green macaron was held in front of your face, slowly forcing you to turn your head in its direction as it began to pull away from you

Him. 

“Oh!” 

Oh? If only you could hit yourself in the head that would be great. 

“Oh?” Gojo chuckled, his brows pinching together in slight confusion at your reaction as his lips threatened to pull into a teasing smile, “I haven’t seen you in a year and that's what you’ve got to say?”

You try not to let your heart flutter at his cheeky manner as you roll your eyes, your smile growing as you take him in. 

He’s gotten taller if that was even possible. His hair is still as white as it was, and it seems that no amount of sun was going to change that. He’s gotten a little bit tanner, no longer that frigid pale hue to his skin that made you worry he’d drop dead at any moment. He’s unfortunately more muscular, which just means you have to cast away the scrawny image you’ve made in your mind in hopes that he’d come back anemic. 

His eyes are just as captivating as ever, blue and inviting. His jaw is sharper and yet he has no facial hair on his face. Which you prefer on most men but you’re glad he’s never given into that trend. 

Most importantly, he still looks like that boy you fell in love with so many years ago, and no time away would ever change you at your core. 

You try to not let your neck prickle with heat as he seems to assess you the same way you're doing to him, try not to feel self-conscious as his eyes roam over your features. Sure, a person can change in a year, but you wouldn’t bet you’ve changed that much that would warrant this amount of staring.

“So…?” 

“‘Toru, hi!” You snap out of your state, watching as his face picks up and breaks into a grin as you set your plate down somewhere, seemingly now realizing that Satoru is here and in front of you, “My, you’ve grown so much!”

“Really?” He looks at his torso and his arms as if he can’t believe it. 

“Well, a bit,” you curse at your awkwardness as he cocks a brow, “I’m sorry, I’m a bit out of my element tonight. I apologize for my earlier reaction.” You duck your head down for a second as he waves it off, hopefully not offended. 

You’re glad this little table is tucked away in an alcove away from most of the public eye, and the only people around the two of you are older people and the people standing outside in the gardens. Either they don’t see the man or they’re being somewhat human and granting the two of you some privacy. 

“Apology accepted, but not needed,” he teases, patting your shoulder affectionately as you try not to act as if that single touch made you reconsider the idea of marriage. 

“How are you?” He asks after a beat, not affected by your out-of-character attitude as he tilts his head to the side. 

“As good I could be,” you offer him a wink that came off as an elongated blink, “Whatever Lily filled you in on has most likely happened to me too.” He chuckles, his laughter the sound of melted honey. 

Fuck, you’re never going to get over him. 

“And you? How were your trips?” You egged him on, eyes tracing him, watching as some pink dusted over his cheeks. 

“Boring. Couldn’t wait to come back.” He says, but you can hear the sarcasm in his voice. Mixed with the way he couldn’t contain his bits of laughter, you laughed alongside him. 

“I’d believe it if not for your tan and newfound outlook on life, or so it seems from how Lily describes it.”

“She exaggerates everything,” he waves it off, and you wonder what that double-edged sword implies. 

“I-”

“He’s here!” You hear a loud voice cut you off as the two of you look over your shoulder to see his mother leading the awaiting princess and her train to where the two of you are standing, “He seems to be getting warmed up with this fine lady!” She says your name as heat rushes to your cheeks in embarrassment. 

It was only seconds before you were surrounded by men and women you had never seen before, all hanging off of Satoru’s words as he scrambled to answer all of their questions. 

And so it begins, you say to yourself as you push away from them, going to find Lily as you wonder why you even try. 

You miss the way he calls out for you, quiet enough so that nobody else hears it, but loud enough that his chest tightens in confusion at the sheer desperation of it. 

---

“I despise men!”

You’re at the Gojo estate for once, and Lily has started a new tirade that has lasted for the last hour. 

“What brought this on?” You press, exchanging worried glances with Satoru and her younger sister as she groans, jamming her palms into her eyes as she vehemently shakes her head. 

“Does this,” she shoves her hand, more importantly, her ring finger without a ring, in front of your face, “Look like I’m keen on getting married to you?”

“No….?” You mutter, scared of what she would say next. 

“Does it look like an invitation to barge into my home?”

“Not exactly,” You say, earning a sympathetic look for Satoru as she glares at him. 

“Does it look like I want to get frisky in the broom cupboards?”

“Christ! Lily, your sisters here!” You shout, jumping to cover the young girl's ears. Lily waves it off and Satoru just chuckles, a twinkle in his eyes as you usher the girl out of the tea room as you slam the door shut. 

“This certainly beats the beaches in Venice,” Satoru says as you near the table again, winking at you as you laugh quietly. 

“I’m so glad I’m not getting married. You should be too,” she points her finger at you as you look up at her, “Men are nothing but evil, money hungry, sex driven-”

“Charming, majestic-” Satoru talks over her as she talks even louder. 

“Dirty animals!” She finishes with a cry. 

You and Satoru share a glance as you try to laugh. She’s not wrong, far from it. The majority of men in this place needed to be sent back to their creator, but Lily had a vein in his forehead that was protruding at an odd angle. 

“You laugh now, but you’ll be thanking me fifty years from now.” She warns as you nod, acting totally compliant with her. 

“You’re still with her on her no-marriage pact?” Satoru asks as he stands up, walking past Lily as he looks out from the window, seemingly admiring the gardens outside. He glances over at you as you sink into the satin cushions beneath you. 

“Yes,” but your answer came out shaky and unsure. 

“Of course she is,” Lily answered for you with a definite nod, “And besides, she’s the luckier one. It’s not like any man has even asked her to marry anyway.” She says jokingly, shoving a biscuit in her mouth as she plops herself down beside you, nudging your shoulder with hers as if it were the funniest thing in the world. 

You wish the sofa could swallow you whole. 

“Hey,” Satoru turns around, brows furrowed as he looks at his sister, but the door opens before he can finish his sentence. 

“Miss Gojo,” their butler, Fred, who you’ve known since you’ve known Lily announces for her as he stands at the foot of the door, “Your mother has requested your presence in her quarters.”

Lily stands up with a groan, wiping the crumbs off of her dress as she makes sure there’s nothing around the corners of her mouth. 

“I’m needed elsewhere,” she pats your arm caring for it despite having her words wanting to make you plummet yourself off of a cliff, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You give her a weak goodbye, watching as she leaves with the door shutting behind her as you sit up a bit straighter, getting ready to leave yourself. 

You stand up, careful not to make any eye contact with Satoru out of sheer embarrassment as you smooth out the wrinkles in your dress, hoping the silence would suffocate you faster than it would him. 

“Lily talks too much sometimes,” he finally says, stepping away from the window as he takes a two closer to your direction, before passing, “I’d apologize on her behalf but I’m pretty sure she’s already forgotten what she’s said.” He tries to lighten the mood and bless his soul, but you can already feel your spirits for the day sour. 

“It’s alright,” you promise, though he seems to disagree but you continue anyway, “I know her, she doesn’t mean it.” Still doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt, a part of you chides. 

“Are you leaving?” He asked, taking another tentative step forward. 

“I was planning on it,” you say with a little chuckle, hoping that your eyes watering up wasn’t too noticeable, “Is that alright with you?”

He looked at you with his bright eyes and just blinked, taking a while to reach his senses. 

“Y-yes! Yes, quite alright. Let me just get my coat…” He muttered, brushing past you as you quickly tried to reject his incoming offer. 

“There’s no need!” You run a bit to catch up to him and his fast pace, “My house is barely two skips away,” you lamely joke, hoping he’d give it up. You wanted to wallow in your self-pity on your walk home, not have to converse with the one man who’d inadvertently give you more to pity over. 

“Not a chance,” he argued, draping the coat in question over his arm, “What sort of person would I be if I let you walk out alone?”

Any other person, you wanted to say but stopped yourself. 

“I don’t mean to bother you…” You wrong your hands in a nervous state, eyes darting everywhere but his. 

You were trying to work on your silly crush this past week, which had unfortunately ramped up ever since he came back. In response, you worked out that the best solution to getting over it was to act like he didn’t exist and ignore him whenever possible. Clearly, it was working out completely in your favor. 

“Not a bother at all.” He insisted, linking his other arms with yours as you jumped a bit in surprise. He was forward, if anything. 

“Fred,” he calls out, getting the butler's attention as you try to hide yourself away, “Tell my mother I’ll be back in a bit.” The man just nods, opening up the front doors as Satoru leads the two of you out. 

The sun was out and working away, which didn’t help with the heat already prickling away through your skin. The Gojo estate was large, but hidden away, and for that you were glad. You could only imagine the gossip that would arise if certain ladies in society were to see you (helplessly) draped over the bachelor's arm. 

“Are you enjoying being back here?” You asked, trying to exert your confidence when you were feeling anything but. 

It’s not like you were unsure of yourself at most times, it’s just that when you’re around the one man you’ve been in love with since childhood and he feels nothing of the sort, you can’t help but be more conscious over everything. 

Satoru looked at you, shrugging as he pursed his lips, thinking of an answer. 

“I missed it,” he says, “But I mainly came back for my family and my friends and well…” He trailed off, chewing on his lip as he waved off his thoughts as if it didn’t matter, “Nonetheless, now that I’ve been around them, I remember why I wanted to leave.” 

And sometimes, despite him not wanting to, made you feel as if you were the most important person he’s had the pleasure of talking to, when in reality that’s just in his nature. 

“Is Lily pestering you too much?” You tease, a little smile on your face that wrinkles the edges of your eyes. He simply stared at you again, his eyes bright. 

“That,” he playfully tugged on your arm, “And the fact that my mother has bombarded me with the idea of marriage. And Luke is having troubles with his fiancé  and Annie doesn’t want to learn to read…it’s all just very chaotic.” He finished with a tired laugh, as if that’s all he could muster up. 

“Seems like a normal day in your house, if I’m being honest.” You lament, kicking a pebble with the point of your shoe. 

“I guess so,” he heaves a sigh that comes out dramatically, “Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve put up with it all these years.”

You scoff, digging your elbow into his side a bit to show that you were offended by his statement. 

“Your family is perhaps the closest thing I have to a second family!”

“And who says family can’t get on your last nerve?” He argued, and that shut you up. He was, indubitably, correct. 

“Yes, well,” you stumble to find some reasoning and he laughs seeing you falter, knowing that he got you cornered, “‘Toru, you are simply a horrible influence to be around.” Is all you can come up with, and despite the severity of your words it only seems to spur him on even more. 

“And yet you can’t seem to get enough of me, can you?” 

You almost stopped in your tracks, your heart seizing in your chest as you try not to fumble up your well-made facade of indifference. 

All you could remember upon his statement were the words he spoke so long ago, not knowing you’d heard them.��

“Charles, you don’t get it, I don’t want a wife!” Satoru exclaimed as he snapped at his friend. It was a gala held at the queen's palace and you had strayed too far away from Lily and found yourself hiding behind a wall as you eavesdropped on the conversation. 

“Not even the Princess?” Another man pushed as you heard Satoru let out a heavy sigh. You peeled around to see him pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I don’t want to be tied down. You saw what happened to my parents.” He argued. A part of you sympathized with him. 

“Well,” you could make out this voice as his younger brother, two years older than you he went to thinking, “What about that friend of Lily’s? She seems nice enough.”

The hair on your arm pricked upwards. Surely they couldn’t be talking about you. 

“Who?” Satoru asks and his brother says your name in a hushed whisper, as if you held more weight in your title than the Princess did. 

“Her? No, absolutely not,” he said with such disgust that his friends thought he was joking, “You’re out of your mind if you’d think I’d want to court her.”

Your heart, full of love and hope and dreams cracked, crumbled in your chest. And you left, running away because that’s all you knew how to do and sobbed your eyes out to Lily, stating that you heard somebody talking bad about you, refusing to admit that it was her own brother that was causing you to break in front of her. 

A part of you felt pathetic for still caring for him after that night, but there’s not much fight in you when it comes to the people you loved. You pulled away, sure, and stopped your lame excuses of flirting, but you never stopped. He never found out that you heard, so he continued as your friend and you continued as the shameless woman. 

“Right,” you swallow thickly, glad that your estate is now growing closer and closer, knowing that you feel sick and can’t handle it anymore, “Thank you so much for your help, but I’m sure I can make the treacherous journey on my own now.” 

You wring your hand away from his arm, you smile wobbling as you tip your head in his direction, watching him try to make sense of your quick change in nature. 

“Let me take you up to your door,” he started but you raised your hand to silence him, shaking your head. 

“That would be too much to ask for. I will leave you here…um, Satoru,” you say politely, not noting the way his jaw clenched at your sudden formality when addressing him, “I’ll see you tomorrow, hopefully.”

And you left quickly before he could say anything else. You must stay focused on the reality of your situation;

Your best friend's brother just simply wasn’t in love with you. 

---

“Miss,” 

You perked up from your chair in your quaint little library, setting your book down as you watched one of the maids, Ella, politely calls from the door. 

“There’s a gentleman outside calling for you.”

Your brows furrowed as you found a marker so that you don’t lose your place and purse your lips together in questioning. 

“Do you know who…?” Your head cocked to the side as you stood up, walking near her as you wondered if it were that delivery boy who said he’d come with the new copies of the Brontë books you’d been eyeing for the past month. 

“It’s the Viscount Gojo, miss.” She said simply. 

Your face dropped, and you watched as confusion spread across hers. 

“Him? Here? Did he say what was wrong?” You began to rustle around, trying to find something to throw on top of your slip. 

Did something happen to Lily? Did she run away? Was their mother in trouble? You could recall her telling you that her head was aching, could something serious have happened because of that? Christ, you should have told somebody about it rather than comfort her and make her tea. Was he leaving again? Perhaps-

“He said he wanted to see you miss, that’s all he told me.” She seemed apprehensive, judging your face to see if you were maybe feeling ill due to your reaction. 

“Um, alright, just,” you hurried around, trying your fastest to get to your room, “Tell him I’ll be down in a few minutes! Don’t tell him I’m preparing myself, just say that I was discussing matters with somebody!” You call out as you sprint across the halls, not hearing any confirmation as you lock yourself in your room, ransacking your closet to find something not too flashy but not too boring. 

It took a good four minutes just to find a suitable dress and another five to make your face and hair look presentable enough as you scampered down the stairs only to find said Viscount waiting in the foyer. 

His face turned to yours as he heard your heels clicking on the marble, growing into a bright smile as he dipped his head down to greet you. 

“Hello,” he said your name with that smooth voice of his as he took his jacket off and kept it on his arm, “I’m sorry for turning up on such short notice.”

“It’s no problem,” you try to catch your breath for the first time in the last ten minutes as your chest heaves slightly up and down, “No problem at all. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He takes a second to respond, eyes scanning your features, your clothing, your chest as it tries to catch a solid breath, and you feel yourself look down to make sure there aren't any noticeable wrinkles in the fabric. 

“I, I just wanted to drop in. See how you were doing.”

You tried not to look even more startled, but your brows creased once again as you gnawed on the inside of your cheek. 

“I’m quite alright…thank you…?” You couldn’t look that out of the ordinary, right?

“Good, that’s good,” he watched as you finished your descent down the stairs, slowly coming towards him as you waited for him to finish, “I’m sorry if I interrupted your conversation with…?” Ella did give him a name you wanted to guess. 

“Lord Cornwallis.” You finished for him, not knowing why that was the first name that came to your mind. It was true that he had been here yesterday, but you didn’t talk much to him in his brief visit. 

“Lord Cornwallis?” Satoru repeated back in shock, his brows shooting upwards as he did nothing to hide his outburst. His face quickly turned into one of disgust, which accurately represented the emotions you felt yesterday when you eavesdropped on the conversation he had with your mother behind closed doors. 

“Yes, you just missed him. He went out through the back door,” why were you making this web of lies even bigger? You have no self-control, do you?

“What was Cornwallis doing here?” 

You but your tongue, having to come up with a lie or tell the truth as to why he had visited yesterday. Either way, both options turned out with horrible results. 

“He asked for my hand.” The truth it was, then. 

His brows seemed to disappear into his hairline as his jaw slacked, mouth wide open. Damn your mind, you should have just lied. 

Lily was wrong in one thing, perhaps. You have gotten a few marriage offers in the last three years, but by all men who were older than your grandfather. You hadn’t even told Lily about them and now you were telling her brother. 

“I…” Satoru couldn’t even find the right words to say. You wanted to bury yourself in a hole. 

“…Cornwallis? Isn’t he-”

“Pushing ninety-nine? Yes.” Nobody was sure of his age, and ninety-nine was perhaps even being too generous. Everybody knew that Cornwallis was simply ancient. 

“Did I save you from the conversation at least? I must say, if there was any man I would wish ill upon, it’s certainly him. He’s a lying old cheat.” He tried to joke again but you swallowed thickly. Perhaps if he came at the same time yesterday he might have. But he didn’t and you had to sit through an hour of him pleading with your mother as the two of you just stared in abject horror and surprise. 

“Yes well, thank you…for doing that.” You lied, cleaning your teeth together as you tried to smile, not wanting to hurt his feelings as you came up closer to him, desperately hoping to change the topic of the conversation. 

“Is everything alright with Lily?” You asked his eyes that were focused on the floor jumping to yours as your lips parted, worry still clear on your face. 

“Yes, of course, I just wanted to ask a favor of you. But, judging from your encounter with men today I would understand if this is pushing it,” he cut right to the crux of the matter. He seemed nervous, which was an odd emotion to see on a man otherwise very confident and sure in himself. It unsettled you. 

You tilted your head, waiting for him to find his words and continue. You could make out the slight blush on his face, the pink hue that spread across his cheeks, and the tip of his nose. He was, by all means, the cutest person you’ve ever seen. 

“My mother's holding another ball, two weeks from now, you see,” his lip caught between his teeth, “And she’s been bugging me about having a date for the night. She wants to appease the rest of the gentry, I suppose. Would you, by any chance, like to be that?” 

You stopped computing his words. 

“...It’s honestly just to get her off my back. And you wouldn’t have to stay with me the entire evening, you could do whatever you’d like after we get some of the necessities over with. Lily was the first who suggested the idea, she said you wouldn’t be doing much other than gossip with her. Of course, if you don’t want to I certainly won’t force the idea, but it’s merely a suggestion.” His blue eyes, ever so convincing and round and caring bore into yours, and despite your better judgment you find yourself nodding. 

“I wouldn’t mind it,” you say a bit breathlessly, completely forgetting about Cornwallis and the way you were debating it and the fact that this means nothing at all, and would most likely cause you more harm than good. 

His nervousness washed away into a big smile, and you cursed yourself at the little flicker of hope you felt deep in your soul as he scrambled to find the right words to say to thank you. The flood of gratitude and appreciation stabbed deeply into your heart as he kept repeating friend, but you were too hopeful for love. 

Your mother always said that loving would always be your greatest weakness. 

---

You should have said no. 

The amount of eyes that were focused on you was enough to make you nauseous, and you couldn’t get sick for you hadn’t had anything to eat today with how hurried everything was. 

Your arm was draped around Satoru’s, and he held tightly onto your hand. He was the image of luxury and charisma right now, and if you were in the crowd looking as he made his way through the crowd you almost would have wanted to bow. 

Time came by a lot faster when you were totally freaking out over it, and before you knew it, you were put in a dress you hadn’t even picked and corseted to the heavens. Your hair was done with extra detail, and they even went as far as putting some Swarovski’s into it so that when the candlelight hit it, you’d sparkle twice as much. 

Satoru, ever the gentleman, had picked you up from your estate as he walked you to their home amidst all the chaos of getting ready for another ball. In all honesty, you have no idea how their mother manages to keep her sanity through all of this.

You were still a bit giddy from your earlier interaction with Satoru, although it didn’t do much to calm your nerves now. 

“I’m sorry for taking so long!” You had said as you rushed down your stairs, careful not to trip over your train as you put your earrings in. Ella said that he was waiting for you downstairs, you just underestimated how early he’d be. 

“Don’t apologize…” He had turned around from admiring a painting, his eyes widening a bit when he saw you. He quickly shut his mouth, but you had already gauged his reaction. You tried not to let it get the best of you, but you could have sworn he blushed more often than usual when you interlinked your arm with his.

“You’re cutting off my blood circulation.” He whispers in your ear as you try to smile, your eyes nervous as they dart around the room. How could it be even bigger than that last ball? Did they suddenly meet thirty new people? 

“Maybe you could cut mine off.” You snap back through your teeth, your hand gripping his wrist as tightly as you could. 

“How are we supposed to dance if one of us is dead?” He grumbles back, putting on a little grin as he makes eye contact with his mother, and then goes back to whispering, “It’s just one song and you’re done. You’ve done this before.”

You wanted to shove him to the ground. 

“No, I haven’t!” You say loud enough that he hears but try to mask it so that nobody else does, “I told you yesterday this is my first time dancing with somebody!” As embarrassing as it was to admit, right now you couldn’t be bothered to care as he led you to the middle of the room, standing in first position as you two waited for the orchestra to begin. 

“Are you saying I’m your first?” He teased, his tongue poking out from between his lips as he watched you grow mortified, rubbing the back of your hand in a comforting way as his means to apologize. 

You wanted to go ahead and argue but the cello and violins started and you were whisked away by his calculated movements, and the only thing you could do was follow in his lead. 

The two of you practiced a bit in the days leading up to this, but it was a lot different when your only crowd was Lily and her constant whining about how boring it was. 

Now, with everybody staring at you and him, it was far more daunting. 

“Don’t look at the ground, look at me,” he whispered in your ear, smiling when your eyes traveled to him. He tried not to crack when he saw the pure loathing and hatred in them, but at least you were looking up and not at his shoes. 

“‘Toru I’m never doing a favor for you again, you owe me.” You groan, letting him twirl you around in a circle as some of the ladies give a polite clap. 

“Name your price.” He egged you on, bringing you back flush against his chest as his hand found purchase on your waist. 

“Not money,” you grumble, eyes twitching as your heart beats rapidly in your chest, you’ve always wanted to dance with him, sure, but not under these circumstances. 

“Books?” You consider it but shake your head. You deserve something bigger for what you’re putting yourself through. Shocking enough, after being a wallflower for so many years, you weren’t handling being in the spotlight too well. 

“I’ll think about it. But it has to be big.” You warn and he lifts up his pinky on your waist to show you his unbridled loyalty to keeping true to your words.

“Where are you going after this is done?” He spins the two of you around, and you watch as more couples rush around the two of you. It’s less stressful when others are dancing, but you still feel tense. 

“I’m probably going to stay with Lily outside.” He seems to deflate a little, though he still stands tall, his suit never crinkling through his movements. 

“No more dancing?” He teased but you vehemently disagree with the idea. 

“Never again.” It’s not as though you hate it, in fact, a younger you would have been jumping with glee to be able to dance with Satoru. But after years of growing accustomed to watching rather than participating, you can’t grow out of that habit. 

You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned around to see the Princess herself as she looked at you with pleading eyes. 

“Would you mind if…?” She motioned to Satoru and then to you. You barely noticed the number coming to an end, and the rupture of applause was the last thing you heard before you scrambled away from him. 

You didn’t even notice how he had held onto your hand tighter, not wanting to let you go.

“O-of course, your majesty.” You winced at your select choice of words and how you said her title almost as if you questioned it. 

“Thank you.” She mumbled and for somebody of such high regard, you wouldn’t think of her to need to plead with somebody, especially you, to be able to have a dance with Satoru. 

Your job for the night was done, successfully might be too loose of a term, but finished nonetheless. You chose not to look back at Satoru, knowing that the wide grin he’d save for the girls he was interested in would only twist that knife deeper into your heart. 

You were a sadist in the most pathetic way possible.

You waved goodbye to Satoru as another number started again, and tried your best to get away from all the twirling bodies as you headed out to find Lily. 

It didn’t take long until you found her trying to weasel out some information from her brother, tapping him repeatedly on the shoulder as he tried to fight her off. 

“…what did you hear, what do you know?” She pressed as he groaned, obviously trying to have a private conversation with the lady next to him. 

“Nothing Lily!” He locked eyes with you as he almost begged silently for you to take her. 

“Lily, I’m here. We can go now.” You looped elbows with her as you dragged her away, giving her brother a quick smile that said you accepted his gratefulness. 

As you walked through the stone path in the garden, she muttered dejectedly about how she was just about to get some good information out of him. 

“How was dancing with Satoru?” She finally asked after a while. The two of you weren’t alone, but far less crowded than it would if you had been inside. 

“Stressful, but the song was short so I wasn’t needed for too long.” You tell her honestly. If there’s one thing you can’t do with Lily it’s lie, for she’ll sniff out of you the moment you come up with it. 

“You look flustered.” She noted, looking over your face and the sweat that dotted over your cheekbones. 

“You dance in a sweltering room like that with the entire ton looking at you and try not to get flustered.” You reasoned and she seemed to buy it. It wasn’t a total lie, but a stretch of the truth. 

“You know,” Lily had terrible balance and often collided with you as she walked, “I was talking to my mother and despite her insistent warnings, I think we should make it official.”

“Make what official?” The lights from the candles above you illuminated her face and she had that look of mischief that either excited or frightened you. 

“That we plan to be unwed.” She grinned cheek to cheek and all you could feel was that same wave of nausea that had been prickling at you since the start of the night. This was the last thing you needed to hear about right now. 

“They’re going to think we’re either lunatics or lovers.” You say with a sullen and heavy sigh, looking up at the sky in some sort of desperate manner as you wait for some sort of angel to save you from this conversation. 

“And what’s the issue with that? Let them think. You have always said you’ve wanted this, so let’s let the world know.” 

Something you wish Lily was was to be more aware. As loving, thoughtful and caring as she was, she never seemed to pick up on the little things. For one, you doubted she noticed just how quiet you got whenever she brought up this conversation. You’d give her the benefit of the doubt and say that you rarely talked much when it came to marriage, but that was just so that you could save yourself from the ongoing embarrassment of never having experienced love or some sort of feeling that somebody would feel towards you to genuinely want to be your husband. 

Not only that, but far from Lily's point of help, is the fact that ever since Satoru has been back, your childish feelings have come flooding right in with him. No matter how many tea sessions you have with Lily and have him sitting in the background, either reading the morning's paper or jotting things down in his journal, it always spins to him sitting right beside you as you talk about anything under the sun. 

And while you know your hopes of marrying him are just too far-fetched, you’ve always been a hopeless romantic. Something Lily just hasn’t ever been able to pick up on when around you. Which is shocking, seeing how the only novels you’ve read for the majority of your life was centered around such a topic. 

“Listen, Lily, I’ve been thinking,” you pause for a second in your place, staring at the pebbles arranged in the formation of a star as you swallow your bile, “That maybe…” 

You were nervously wringing your hands together, a sign that Lily knew all too well. She could read you like any of her books, and she let out a gasp, covering her mouth with a shaky hand as she pointed an accusatory finger at you. 

“No,” she dug the finger into your chest, “You’re thinking of breaking up the pact?” It comes out breathless. Her soft curls of white that had been done up beautifully were slowly falling down as she shook her head in pure shock, not giving you a chance to talk. 

“I mean this is just brilliant. Brilliant! What am I supposed to do now, go out into the world alone as a spinster?” 

You stuttered, your fingers interlaced with one another as you tried to calm her down from causing a scene. Trying to shush her came to no avail as you wring your hands away from her, acting as if your touch was burning. 

If the Gojo’s were anything, it’s overly dramatic in places where dramatics were certainly not needed. 

“Please be rational,” she urged you as she clutched onto your wrists, suddenly pleading to you with her wide eyes, “The season is almost over and you haven’t had any offers. Sooner than later we’re going to be thirty, then forty, then fifty, and husbandless. We should say it now so that it doesn’t come off as a pathetic cry to hold onto what little decency we have in the future!” 

Christ, you hated that she was being somewhat logical. But her rationality stung, the way melted wax does when it burns the skin. She didn’t know just how much she was hurting you, and you doubted she ever would. 

“Look, I know I’m probably not going to be offered a chance at marriage, but it wouldn’t hurt to at least try.” You try to reason with her as she sniffs, her eyes squinted as she looks at you in anger. 

“This was our pact and you’re going against it! What’s next?”

You were going to argue that this pact was only made on the basis of her having too much champagne to drink and you being sullen over her brother, but you were cut off from getting the chance to do so. 

“What’s your issue?” 

You turned around at the familiar voice as you saw Satoru nearing you, Lily continuing her rant as she seemed to completely miss that her brother was coming towards the two of you. 

“What?” You felt overwhelmed with having two Gojo’s corner you, both rather angry from the looks of it. 

“I know that this isn’t your scene but you said you’d be my date. You don’t have to dance with me, but at least be there.” He looks like he’s seething, and you’ve never seen this look on him before. It’s jarring, to say the least. 

You feel like your head is about to explode. 

“I just-”

“....and my mother was only more confident in the idea if you were doing it!” Lily exclaimed, causing you to look back at her as she urged you to think about it. 

“...my mother has given me at least twenty women to mull over in the last twenty minutes. It would have been none if you just acted as my date for the night!” Satoru’s voice rose, and you felt like your heart was going to actually stop. Your head was spinning, your vision was blurry, and you couldn’t hear anything besides a loud ringing in your ears. 

“I’m sorry but-” The two of them talked over you, so stuck in their own worlds that they didn’t notice the tears pricking at your eyes or the way you seemed to be short of breath. It would probably be one of their greatest flaws, never noticing something until it was far too late. 

“Stop!” You cried out, earning some looks from the people around you as you rubbed at your forehead, already feeling it ache under your touch, “Please! Listen, just for a bloody second!” 

You took a deep breath and began. 

“I’m a fucking romantic Lily, and nothing’s ever going to change that! I always have been! And I want to get married, I just agreed to your pact because I know I’m probably never going to get that chance! And god, how can your only takeaway from reading Persuasion be to abstain from marriage?” Your nose crinkles in anger as you turn around to point your finger at her brother's chest, watching as he takes your reaction in obvious surprise. 

“You!” You cry out and he almost backs away, “I was trying to give you some courtesy by leaving! God forbid you gave anybody the idea that you were courting me!” You quickly wipe at your eyes but it does fuck all of hiding how you truly felt as your lips wobbled.  

“Why would…?” He's breathless, no longer angry, just utterly confused and a wee bit frightened. 

“We both know you’re too good for that. How’d you phrase it, you’d be out of your mind if you did such a thing?” You throw his own words back at him, and you watch in some sort of mixture of triumph and heartbreak as realization washes over his features. 

He finally remembers. 

“I…” he swallowed thickly, running a hand through his hair as it fell out of his face, rubbing at his jaw as you looked at you from beneath his lashes, “I didn’t…” but he can’t finish his sentences and instead stops, sharing an unreadable look with his sister as they then look at you. 

“I’m going home.” You say after a beat of silence, breathing deeply through your nose as you look away from the two of them. 

“Let me-” Satoru started but you raised a hand to stop him. 

“I think I’d be better off alone.” You snap, nostrils flaring as you shake your head, pinching the bridge of your nose as you try to stop the already impending migraine that is about to come. 

For once in your life, you didn’t care about the eyes boring into your back or the way that whispers flew around you and twisted around your throat like a vine. You were glad that nobody else other than the servants was home as you ran up into your room, locking everybody else out as you sobbed into your pillows. 

---

The days following your (well-deserved) outburst were more than rough. 

To your knowledge, Lily has visited a total of ten times in the past five days, sometimes twice in the same one, while her brother has visited a grand total of zero. You didn’t expect much from him, but this really cemented your quickly growing disdain. 

Your mother informed you constantly that she was trying to put out the fires from that night but you couldn’t bring it to feel too bad, after all, you were glad that you didn’t say anything more drastic. 

“This is just so unlike you!” She cried, shaking in disappointment as you munched on some sweets you nicked from the kitchen. 

“I know,” you chuckled, “I’m so proud of myself.”

She just throws her hands in the air as a sign of utterly giving up and storms out of the room, most likely to meet with somebody else to “clean up the mess.”

She was right for some part, you can’t remember the last time you actually told somebody how you were feeling. It’s not healthy on your end, but growing up with three older sisters who always got it their way meant that you had some lack of backbone. 

Lily and Satoru, as much as you cared about them, didn’t live like that. Their mother loved them all equally and she made sure that all of their voices were heard. She was always making sure that their priorities were met and she never made them feel inferior. 

Which somehow, didn’t pass on to you. 

Loving the way you do got tiring when you got nothing back, and giving everybody your all when nobody seemed to notice it felt as though you were alone in a world full of people who cared for each other. You’ve read the books and heard the stories, but you eventually realized that it simply just wasn’t in your cards to be dealt the same thing. 

They cared, you know they did. But sometimes, it felt like they expected your care in order for them to show it to you. 

“Miss?” you heard a faint voice and a knock at your door. You sat up from your slump as Ella slowly came inside, shutting the door soundly behind her. 

“Did my mother ask you to make sure I haven’t flung myself off the balcony?” You dust away any crumbs from your pull over as you stare out the window. 

“I’m making sure you didn’t.” 

Your head snapped over at the familiar voice only to see Lily standing at the foot of your bed, looking out of place with her bright purple dress. She looked like she was teetering back and forth between staying out and sprinting away, and you admired her courage after how many times you’ve turned down her offer. 

You glared at Ella but she was no longer there, leaving you and Lily alone. 

“You’re just in time then.” You say blandly, standing up from your bed as you make the covers and are careful not to come too close to her. She seemed to notice. 

“We can’t go about this forever,” she stated, rounding the corner of your bed as she took three steps forward while you took one back, not wanting to be cornered again the way you were that night, “This silent treatment is killing me.”

“Then die,” you don’t mean it and she knows it, but her face wobbles for a second and you watch in horror as tears spring to Lily's eyes. 

The last time Lily cried the two of you were fifteen and her brothers had effectively ruined the singular dress she had actually been looking forward to wearing by staining it with ink. You spent at least an hour calling her down and trying to rationalize with her until you finally gave up and offered to cut holes in all of their suits. 

You’re not sure you could do that now. 

“I’m sorry!” She sprung herself forward at you with full throttle as she hugged you tightly, “You’re right! There’s nothing wrong with being a romantic!” You don’t know what to do as you stand there in shock so you awkwardly pat her back, her long white hair never loose so you’ve never really seen it to its full extent. 

“My brother and I have been at war with each other trying to put the blame on somebody else but I’m sorry! You of all people deserve to find love,” she looks up and her eyes just look like oceans and it’s unfair how pretty she looks when she cries because you just look like a mess, “Please, please forgive me.”

You look as she refuses to pull away from you, clutching desperately onto the thin fabric of your nightgown that your mother reprimanded you for not getting out of, and slowly feel your hands circle around her back as you pull her into a hug. 

“Honestly,” you shake your head as she looks up at you, cheeks rosy with streaks of tears and her lip wobbles violently, “I’m probably going to be on that pact ten years from now. But I just-”

“Want to try!” She finished your sentence for you, something the two of you always prided in being able to do, “and that’s respectable too!”

You try not to smile but the corners of your lips tug upwards as you nod, Lily waiting with bated breath as she scanned your reaction. 

“Don’t ever treat me like that again, you hear me?” 

She vehemently nods, pulling away as she wipes at her eyes, holding out her oinks finger as she waits for you to latch on. Sure, it was a childish way of making a promise, but Lily was never the serious sort of person. If anything, this is the most you’ve ever seen her apologize about something. 

“I promise with the depths of my soul. If I do, brand me with an iron.” Your eyes widen as you go to disagree but she won’t take it. 

“I swear.” She repeats gravely. 

You look at her pinky for another second before you bring yours up, not believing that this is still how the two of you go about making amends. 

“Alright then,” you heave a sigh, “I forgive you.”

Her face breaks into a wide and toothy smile as she pulls you in for a tighter hug, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs as she pulls back away. 

“You’ll never regret this, I swear,” she looked radiant, but quickly stopped as she looked down at the ground, trying to gather her thoughts on how to break the news to you, “Now, be prepared for another one.” 

You blink slowly, brows furrowed in confusion as you lean on your bedpost, arms crossing as your lips purse. 

“What?” 

She almost looks ashamed again, looking at the clock on your wall. 

“My mother’s invited you over for dinner. Get ready to see the other Gojo.”

---

Your mother, as difficult as she was to deal with at most times, somehow understood the concept of showing off through a good wardrobe. 

You wouldn’t put any bets on the fact that if your outfits were significantly better you might have had at least one man approach you in all these years, but it certainly could have been a possibility. 

The cut was lower than all your normal dress, and with the help of your corset, pushed the sisters up a considerable amount. 

The color was the most flattering you’ve ever seen, and through the utilization of crystals and diamonds encrusted in the fabric itself, it shined perfectly when the light hit it. 

For the first time, you were glad your mother picked out your outfit. 

Unfortunately, the outfit gave you only so much confidence. When you walked into the Gojo estate, thankfully with Lily on your side, all the memories from that night came flooding back and your stomach flipped upside down. 

You were glad that Lily was seated next to you at the dinner table as well, but it didn’t help that Satoru was seated in front of you, glaring daggers into your face as you tried to avoid looking at him. 

“Now, you didn’t tell me about your plans for the next year, with the season already coming to an end.” Their mother, bless her heart, asked as she loaded some peas into her fork, looking at you with her kind eyes as you struggled to think of a good enough answer. 

“I’m planning on taking a marriage offer up, actually,” you say, trying not to look at Lily for you knew she was already giggling.

In the past five hours, you filled her in on everything, and she decided the best way to get Satoru to say something was if you went with the idea. 

“Oh?” You watched as she perked up in interest, as did the rest of the Gojo family. An offer? 

“Yes,” you nodded, “Lord Cornwallis, actually, if you’ve heard of him?” 

Lily was gleaming as she saw her brother clench his jaw as he stared at the side of your face that was still looking at their mother. 

“L-lord Cornwallis?” You felt bad for lying to her, but you could just come back later and say you’ve changed your mind, “He must be at least-”

“Ninety-nine?” You answered for her as her cheek warmed, “Some say he’s just in his prime, yes.” 

She drank some of her wine. 

“Isn’t that desperate?” Satoru finally said and you heard a loud clatter from the end of the table as their mother angrily sat her cup down, glaring at her son. 

“Satoru!” She exclaimed, the rest of the girls and boys watching in tense silence as they waited for your reply. 

“It’s alright,” you shrugged, fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist, “And yes, it could come off as desperate. However, I would rather go to a man who finds no problem in courting me rather than somebody who’d tell the whole world just how much it would disgust him to be seen with me.”

You could swear you heard a tooth crack. 

“I’m sorry, am I missing something-” One of the brothers piped up but Satoru acted as if he hadn’t heard him. 

“Well if that man were drunk out of his wits-”

“Then he let his sober thoughts reign free.” You finish for him, nostrils flaring as Satoru twisted the ring on his forefinger back and forth. 

“Again, Miss Gojo, I’m simply thinking over his offer.” You finish, seeing how she could barely take her eyes off of her son as she blinked towards you, giving a shaky smile as she nodded. 

“Of course, there’s no…no problem in that.” She swallowed uncomfortably, as did everybody else. You peeked over at Lily to find her just as you suspected, beaming with silent joy. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, I think my dress has come a bit undone. I’m going to call for somebody to fix it.” You say, excusing yourself as you try to go ahead with the plan you had set in the first place. 

“Make him mad, really mad. Say something about Cornwallis, he despises him,” Lily muttered, sitting cross-legged on your bed as she urged you to listen to her directions, “Then excuse yourself. Say you’ve got to use the privy or something, doesn’t matter.”

You nodded, listening intently as she laid it on thick for what she had been picking up on for the past couple of days. 

“Go upstairs and find his room, you know where it is. Be quick with it too, but there’s this box on his desk that’s full of letters. I swear on my Austen collection that there is a letter with your name on it.”

You felt your heart tumble. 

“Are you sure?” You asked, glancing at the clock to make sure you wouldn’t be late to dinner. 

“Positive. And I’d get it if I could, but he’s so secretive with his room that this is probably the one time it’s going to be unlocked. He’d never suspect anybody going snooping at this hour.”

You grinned, knowing that if you finally got that little something to use against him, he’d have no choice but to grovel at your feet for the rest of his life. 

You quickly scampered up the stairs, telling one of their mates that you’d be able to fix your dress on your own and that you’d be stashed away in Lily's room for the time being, and mentally times yourself as you quickly paced through the halls, looking for the familiar dark oak that would be Satoru’s room. 

Just when you were about to get lost in their maze of a house, you stopped triumphantly behind the last door at the end of the hall, staring deeply at it as you weighed your options. 

You quickly caved, slowly reaching out to the doorknob to see if it was locked. 

It swung open, and you let out a sigh of relief and looked around a final time to make sure that nobody had followed you before you fully let yourself inside. 

It was dark, and you left the door slightly open so that the light from the halls could sleep in a bit, and you went to work on locating the box on his desk that Lily had described to you. 

You squint your eyes, wincing as you bumped into furniture as you made your way to the corner of the large room, blindly reaching and grabbing for anything on the mahogany desk that would resemble a box. 

You let out a sound of triumph as you found a square-shaped glass-feeling thing filled to the brim with papers, holding it upwards to the sliver of light as you quickly ran through the letters with your fingers and you tried to find one with your name on it. 

They seemed like they were all unsent, with many of them labeled to his mother or siblings, and a few to his friends, but you didn’t find any of them labeled to you, and you quickly felt your heart and hopes sink. This was taking far too long.

Just as you were about to give up, you passed a smaller shaped letter with cursive that looked familiar, in the sense that you had seen it addressed before, and pulled it out only to see your name staring back at you. 

A part of you almost wanted to sink into the chair behind the desk, your heart beating rapidly in the small vastness of your ribcage as you held it back up to the light, seeing a note tucked neatly away through the transparency of the envelope. 

Your nimble fingers went to rip the seal of wax off, but stopped as the door swung open. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Satoru stood at the doorway, blocking the rest of the light as his shadow cast over you. 

You dropped the letter, quickly hiding it behind your back as he stepped in, getting closer to you as you abruptly stood up, trying to come up with a feasible lie as you rounded away from his desk, trying to get away from him and his massive build. 

“Oh?” You looked around as if suddenly realizing this wasn’t the place you were supposed to be, “Is this not Lily’s room? Silly me, I couldn’t make it out in the dark. I’ll be leaving now if you’ll excuse me…” You turned around, brushing past him but stopping when you felt his long fingers circle your wrist, turning you around as his eyes squinted. 

“Bullshit,” you flinched, never having heard him curse before as his hands felt around yours, finding the letter you were doing a terrible job of hiding, “You know this house better than your own. Why the hell are you in my room?” 

You didn’t say anything as he brought your hand out from behind your back, opening up your closed fist with much ease to reveal the crumpled-up envelope. Your chest heaved up and down, waiting with bated breath as he stared silently at the letter. You balled your fists back up again, stepping away from him as he followed you quickly in your footsteps. 

“Give that to me y/n,” his voice was low and commanding, unlike anything you’ve ever heard before, and if you weren't in your rebellious mood (and somewhat in your independent, not totally in-love-with-him mood) you would have caved, but you shook your head, looking behind you as to make sure you didn’t back into his bed frame. 

“It’s got my name on it.” You argued, knowing it was a terrible excuse, and you watched him chuckle darkly, knowing that you had no good reason for being in his room and sifting through his letters. 

“And yet it was in my room, in my letterbox, on my desk.” He snapped, eyes a deep blue and different from the usual lightness they carried. He wasn’t joking and he wasn’t lying, he needed that letter back. 

Which just made you want it even more. 

You didn’t know what to do, so the only logical thing in your sporadic mind was to shove it down your dress, hiding it in your chest as Satoru watched your movements like a hawk, not saying anything as you defiantly showed him your now empty hands. 

“Get it now Satoru,” you challenged him, not realizing you had backed up into the wall until your head lightly bounced off from it, wincing at the sting as you looked back behind you. 

He didn’t say anything, and it seemed like his mind was running as quickly as it could as he tried to deal with whatever it was you were doing. Instead, he just three more languid steps forward, nearly face to face with you as he stared down at you, eyes darting from yours to your lips and chest. 

Under any other circumstances, you would have felt like shedding your clothes off from how heated you felt under his gaze. Here, your only resort was to keep them on, to see what was so important about that letter. 

“I came to find you to apologize,” his voice is low and calm, his cool breath hitting your cheek as you struggle to keep your composure, “To be civil. To tell you that I didn’t mean anything I said that night.” 

Despite your mixed emotions, you felt your brows furrow at his select choice of words. 

“Are you here to tell me now that you actually meant every word?” You couldn’t stop the words as they tumbled out of your mouth, knowing that the answer would probably send you into a state you could never get out of as the person you’ve loved for the majority of your life confirms your biggest fears.

But shockingly, he just shakes his head, his lips pink and plush and you’ve never found yourself focusing on them more than you are now. 

If only you knew that he felt the same as he looked at you. 

“No,” he stepped closer, if possible, but still had room to shove him away. But you didn’t, not now, you couldn’t, didn’t want to as his nose nudged yours a bit, your lashes fluttering against your cheek as your lips parted, waiting for him to do something, 

“I’ll show you that I didn’t mean them.”

You couldn’t breathe, your lungs contracting as his face fell towards yours, your lips meeting ever so slowly as they finally landed on yours, soft and somehow delicate as they pushed against yours, finalizing the kiss as he began to move them. 

You’ve never kissed anybody before, often dreaming about it as you lay in bed hopelessly in love, but never thought you’d be here from the man you’ve imagined on the other side doing it with him. 

He moved slowly as if he knew that this was your first time, and you didn’t know how to handle your emotions as he angled his chin to get closer to you, his lips capturing you in such a heated and feverish pace that you knew you weren’t going to be able to sleep tonight as you thought back on it. 

His hands slowly came up to your waist, tugging you flush against his body as your hands somehow found their way behind his neck, finger curling into his long strands of arctic white as he groaned against you when you tugged a bit, the sound coming from deep within his chest. 

You were impatient, always have been, and it probably took him a little bit by surprise as you quickened the pace, hungry after so many years of starving for this as you pushed against him for more fervor, feeling him smile slightly against your lips as he met you in the middle, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as you whined slightly as the feeling. 

He nipped at your lips, his tongue poking out from in between yours, and you absentmindedly opened your mouth a little bit to make room for him, heart and mind working in tandem as he brought up a hand to cradle the back of your head, making sure it didn’t hit the wall as he pushed against you. 

It was messy and hurried, and for once, it felt as if he felt the same you were feeling. As if he too wanted this, needed this more than air itself, and that thought alone made your mind stop functioning. 

Your hands moved from his neck to his chest, fingers clutching onto the satin fabric of his suit, wrinkling the fabric as your noses bumped against each other, sheer desperation showing from the two of you. 

“Viscount Gojo?” 

The two of you almost jumped at the knock that sounded from the door. 

“Your mother is asking where you are. She’s worried about the lady as well,” Fred didn’t peek his head in, and for that you were grateful. You were sure you looked like a total mess at the moment, but Satoru spoke, glancing at the door as he took a deep breath, almost as if it was his first time breathing in a couple of minutes. 

“Tell her that we’re working things out. It’ll take a bit more time.” His voice sounded steady enough, but from where you were standing you could see how swollen his lips were, the fact that they were red and glistening with sweat. His hand on your waist tightened as if he didn’t want to let you go, and your hand lay flat against his chest.

“Of course,” Fred answered, “Take your time.” He shut the door completely, and the two of you waited until you heard his footsteps becoming softer and softer until you could no longer hear them. 

You waited, looking in the direction for another second before you looked up at him only to see his eyes gauging yours for a reaction, somehow a storm going on behind them as he battled twenty different emotions. 

“I’m still hurt Satoru,” you whisper, his eyes never changing but his shoulders tense a bit as you drop your hands away from him, as if you were suddenly coming to your senses and realizing what you had just done, “I can't forgive you this easily.”

You don’t know how to handle your feelings sometimes, and sometimes they catch up to you later than they should. You could still hear his words from that night ringing around your mind and nothing was stopping it no matter how hard you tried. 

“Come get the letter when you’re ready to apologize with more than just your lips.” 

You look back up at him one more time before you push away, feeling him lightly move away from you to give you space as you smooth out the front of your dress, touching your face to make sure that none of the makeup and powder that was swiped against your face wasn’t wrecked as you left. 

You don’t look back as you left him silently in his room, shutting the door behind you as you stopped, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves as you went back down to dinner. 

---

A week passed since your night with Satoru, and you’ve come to terms with the fact that he regrets it. 

It hurts, it hurts even more when you convince yourself that he probably was trying to take pity on you and test how true his old words were, but you couldn’t spiral, knowing that it would cause even more turmoil. 

Lily came by regardless, under the impression that you and her brother made up and are on better terms, and you're in no rush to tell her the truth of what happened. 

She asked about the note, but you insisted that you couldn’t find it. She grumbled that he probably threw it away after she pestered him constantly about it. 

“What about Lord Balfour?” She was sprawled out on your bed, her legs crossed resting it up against the wall with her head at the opposite end, looking on a piece of parchment in which she had gone around asking for men looking for marriage (and a true romantic connection, she stressed). 

“Hm, too bald,” you said, sitting in your vanity, washing off the rest of the powder on your face as you dipped the soft cotton cloth back into the pitcher of water as you looked at her through the mirror, “Isn’t he a year younger than us?”

She pouted as she thought, looking back to her list as she crossed off that name. 

“Count Alexei?” She seemed to like this one and you set your towel down, trying to place a face to the name. 

“Isn’t he from Russia? Wouldn’t it be difficult for him to come back and forth?”  You asked and she nodded, although she seemed more sad that you didn’t want him. 

“Have you just gone around the ton asking if anybody’s looking for marriage?” You teased and she turned around, sitting up as she wiped the hair out of her face. 

“I take your journey to find true love very serious,” she argued and you snorted, knowing that it was a kid if that and the fact that she liked judging the men of the higher class, “Are you complaining?”

“No, of course not.” You turn around from your chair as you face her, urging her to continue. 

“Duke Cambell?” She looked up from the list with a raised brow, only to find you looking the same, taking more time to consider the name. 

“He explicitly stated he’d consider marriage? With me?” You tilt your head to the side. Surely it would be too good to be true. He wasn’t too pretty, nobody was like Satoru, but he wasn’t that bad to look at either. 

“He seemed quite eager about it, actually.” She said, and you smiled a bit, feeling like a silly schoolgirl with the way you ducked your head. 

“He’s a bit shy, isn’t he?” You said with a little giggle and she snorted, nodding as she circled his name and put a question mark next to it. 

“Just means he’s more apt to moan louder,” she said blandly and your mouth dropped, burrowing your face in your hands at her very open nature. Even after ten years it sometimes caught you off guard. 

“Lily!” You shouted, trying to hold in your laugh, and she just looked at you as if you should have expected this as she rose from your bed, stretching her arms above her head as she let out a frantic yawn. 

The sun had already set and she knew her mother would be expecting her to arrive soon, and you went to stand but stopped you. 

“No need to stand, I’ll bid farewell from here.” 

You rolled your eyes at her dramatics, picking up the cloth again as you dabbed at your cheeks. 

“I assume you’ll be here tomorrow?” Crossing your legs as she shrugged as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. 

“Yes. In fact, I’ll leave this prized list with you so that you can mull it over,” she walked over a bit and set it down on the top of your vanity, looking at you as she put a solemn hand on your shoulder, “Do think over Count Alexis. He is rather dreamy.” 

You chuckled, waving goodbye to her as she left the door with a litter thud, blowing kisses as you snorted at her exaggerated act, turning back around to your mirror as you wiped away the remaining bits of your makeup. 

You were already in your dressing gown, the material soft and light on your skin as you set the cloth back down, drying your face off with another one as you got ready to sleep. 

With meticulous care you took your earrings off and began to work on your necklace but struggled with the finicky clasp, your thumb slipping just as you were about to get it. You let out a quick groan of frustration, shutting your eyes as you tried not to lose your temper over a necklace.

“Do you need help with that?” 

You were getting better at controlling your reactions, but your eyes snapped over to the top of your mirror as he stood there, shutting the door behind him. Your hands fell to your lap as you silently seethed. 

Ella was never going to hear the end of it. 

You said nothing and he quietly walked over to where you sat with your back to him, opting to look at him through your mirror as his slender fingers slowly came up to your neck. 

“I’m getting rid of my maid.” You mutter eyes dropped to your lap as you try to control your breath as his fingertips touch your delicate skin, gingerly getting to work of undoing the clasp. He didn’t say anything and the only sound that filled the room was your slow little puffs of air, trying to get your pulse to stop from doing the strange rhythmic beating it always did when you were around him, as if he somehow became the conductor of your heart. 

You heard a small click and the necklace became undone, and he gathered it in his palm as he set it down next to your little trinkets, dropping his hands from your shoulder as his cerulean eyes found yours once again, and you looked away, his deep stare burning through yours. 

“Don’t,” his voice came out rough as if he hadn’t made much use of it for a while, “She’s always turned me away when I came asking for you. I weasled my way through her right now, almost blew my cover when Lily was leaving.” 

Oh.

“I’m over it.” No, you weren’t, but you wouldn’t admit that out loud.

You opened up the drawer to the left of you, moving some little cases of jewelry around as you found the letter you had hidden away as you brought it out, setting it on the desk as you stood from your chair, pushing it back in as you faced him, “Take it. I didn’t read it.” Despite how much you wanted to, you just couldn’t bring yourself to stoop that low and read through something he didn’t want you to see. 

He glanced over at the letter and then at you, taking the letter with careful movements as he found the letter opener scattered on your desk, ripping through the wax as he opened it up, passing the envelope back to you. 

“Read it.” 

You certainly weren’t expecting that. 

“What?” You couldn’t blink, looking at his outstretched hand that held the very thing that had been bothering you as if it was nothing, “I don’t-” 

“Go on,” he urged quietly, his voice caught in the back of his throat, “Read it out loud. Please.” 

You looked at him once more to make sure he wasn’t going crazy before you gently took it from his hands, your fingers brushing past each other as you opened it up, taking out the letter as you unfolded it, taking a deep breath as you prepared yourself for the worst. 

“I’m terrible at writing letters, you should know,” you start, squinting as you move closer to your candle so that you can read it better, “And you should know that I’ve written this twenty other times. I have-

“Twenty balled-up pieces of paper next to me,” Satoru finished the sentence, not looking at the letter once as he read it from memory, “If only you could see the mess,” he paused, his hands shaking a bit as he continued, “I apologize for not sending as many letters to you as I should, but aside from my travels which have proven to do nothing other than make me regret leaving, I only have one other thing left to tell you. 

“I love you. I’m in love with you. I thought that it would do me some good to leave and get some time to think about how bad it would be if I said out loud that I was in love with the girl who’s my sister's best friend, but I’ve simply gone mad over needing to see you again. I’m in Paris, which is coincidentally the city of love but I’ve grown bitter and resentful over the fact that the woman I love is an ocean away from me. I can’t do it anymore. No, scratch that, no, I can’t do this other letter…” 

“...It’s too pathetic. You’re worth more than this.” You concluded, reading along because you couldn’t be yourself to look up at him, knowing that you simply would break apart and couldn’t take it as you heard the three words you’ve wanted to hear from the man that you never thought would say them. 

You looked at the paper, eyes scanning each word again as you let out a heavy sigh, feeling like you were living in a dream that was wrapping its arms slowly around you and whisking you away. 

“That night, I projected. I don’t know why I said what I said, I just know that thinking it over told me everything I needed to know and I acted like a coward and a fool and I hurt you when really, I love you. I love you, I’ve never stopped. I burn for you, and I always will.” He whispered, his eyes wet with unshed tears as he cleared his throat, wiping at his nose as he sniffled. 

You’ve never seen him like this, exposed and raw. But you knew that you mirrored his emotions, knew that you were in the same state that he was for he carefully brought his hand up to your cheek, wiping a tear away as he cupped your face in his hands. 

“I know that it would be too much to ask for your forgiveness, but please, I don’t know how much longer I can go without at least seeing your face, hearing your voice, your laugh, you’re kind, kind heart.” His hands trailed down your face, down your arms, and your waist, settling on your hips as he ducked his head downward, tears sliding down the curve of his nose as he did something unexpected. 

The Viscount Gojo Satoru began to kneel. 

You froze, looking down in shock as he bowed his head in shame and apology. 

“‘Toru, please, I,” your voice broke and you quickly wiped your tears away, taking his hands that were sprawled out across your waist as you held them, not knowing how to handle this display of vulnerability as you gently made him look up at you, “Just tell me one thing.” 

His thumb caressed the back of your hand, giving a soft nod as he whispered; “anything,” and his hand moved up your waist, holding your back as your hands unknowingly went to his hair, moving it away from his face as your fingers twirled and played with his white strands, basking in the sense of having him at his knees for you. 

“Why did you wait so long to come back?” Your voice is barely audible as it cracks, a year of missing him and ten years of longing for him coming out as he shakes his head, almost as if he was more remorseful about it than you could ever imagine, and he shifted so that he wasn’t resting on his ankles anymore, digging deep into his pocket as he brought out a little box. 

“I went back to Japan. I was trying to find this little ring my father gave my mother back when he started to pine after her,” he opened up the box, a delicately cut blue diamond rind resting on a thin gold band stared back at you, shining in the candlelight, “I wanted to give it to you as a promise…” and he trailed off, a blush spreading across his cheeks as he suddenly became a bit embarrassed, pocketing the box again as he looked back up at you. 

“What was the promise?” You can barely hear your words over the thumping of your heart. 

He swallows, slowly coming to standing back up, never losing his hold on you, clutching onto your thin nightgown as if it was the only thing grounding him to reality. 

“That I’d marry you one day.” He whispered back, his voice hushed as if he didn’t want them to escape the vicinity of your room, this shared space between the two of you in which you stripped each other bare to the soul, only the find that they longed to be in each other's place even when they were miles apart. 

Just as he did so many nights ago, he leaned closer to you, giving you time and space to push him away, to yell, to scream, but you didn’t, nudging his nose with yours as your lips found each other, this time quick and rough and not wanting to be patient because there was no room for such a thing. 

He let out a small groan as you tugged on the hairs at the back of his nape, pushing you further down until your back hit one of your windows, feeling the cool night air from the glass as it traveled through the thin cotton of your slip

It seemed like something in him was finally let go, and you as well, and everything came tumbling down in the best way possible. 

It was so messy and rushed and desperate that you felt like you were going to faint, the air from your lungs being stolen by his hungry and greedy lips as he pushed back roughly against you, needing to taste you, feel you, or else he simply wouldn’t make it. 

Satoru tapped the back of your thighs, urging you to wrap your legs around his torso as you pulled away slightly, questioning him as he scoffed at your doubt. 

“I spent a year getting bigger and stronger for you,” he murmurs against your lips, “and the first thing you said when you saw me was oh. Come on,” he nipped at your lips, his boyish and charming smile growing when you whimpered, “Test me out.” 

You gave in, standing on your toes as you did what he asked, and you let out a little laugh of surprise at how he wasted no time wrapping his arms tightly around your waist as he smirked, going away from the ball as he led you to your bed, basking in the sound of your twinkling laughter as you admired him in all his glory. 

“I shouldn’t have doubted you,” you tease and he snorts, fixing your gown as he hovers above you. He was huge, so much bigger than you anticipated in your imagination, but it was so much better than you ever could have thought. 

“I’d never lie to you,” he promised, pressing another chaste kiss to your lips that left you breathless as he continued downwards, pressing kisses down your jaw, and your neck, spending time as he sucked at one of your vital points, enjoying the way you sounded like you had run a marathon. 

He looks stunning here; his lips look bruised and swollen, pink and wet with spit. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of your body, and if you weren’t crazy about how he looked at you, you would’ve shielded yourself away in embarrassment. 

But he didn’t give you any time to think it over, pushing past your loose nightgown as he pressed delicate pecks to your shoulders and upper chest region, looking up at you to make sure it was okay to continue. 

You quickly nodded, eager to see what he was going to do. 

“Mind if I take this off?” He asks, tugging at the ends of it as you look at him from beneath your lashes, trying to feel indifferent as you shrug, but the way you smile giddily gives away just how badly you want him to. 

“I wouldn’t mind.” You help him move it upwards, your arms coming out from the sleeves as the chilly air hits your naked skin, and you suddenly realize just how out in the open you are compared to him. 

Out of second nature, you go to cover your chest but he tsks, gently pushing your hands away as he eyes your breasts, looking like he had just come back from staring at the sistine chapel with the way he looks at you. 

Your nipples harden from how cold it was, and he slowly dips his head down to one of your tits, kissing the soft and supple skin as he inches closer to your bud, finally latching his mouth onto it as you throw your head back, arching your back into his lips as he sucks like his life depends on it. 

“S-shit, ‘Toru, so good,” you mewl, wrapping your hands around his neck as he flattens his tongue against your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive area as you whine even louder, not seeming to care if anybody outside your door could hear. 

His other hand lathes onto your other one, not wanting to leave her unattended as he pinches your nipple between his two fingers, twisting it just enough to make you shut your eyes at how good the attention feels. 

“Let me hear you,” he groans into your skin, looking up at you as you try to cover up your mouth with your hand, “I’ll stop if you cover up that pretty mouth of yours.” 

You simply nod, leaving your shaky hand to grip your bed sheets as he switches his mouth and hand with each other, giving you different sensations to wrap your hands around as you feel a deep part of your pulse, needing more of him. 

“‘Toru, please,” your voice comes out shaky as he releases your tit with a pop, his hands going down to hold onto your hips as you bring his chin up for another kiss of swapping spit with him, growing to appreciate the lewdness of it all as you lay feather light kisses on his jawline, feeling him shudder beneath you, “Wan’ more.” 

At any other time, he would have drawn this out, would have teased and prodded at you to use your words, to tell him where you needed him most, but he couldn’t wait with you, wanting to have a taste of you himself. 

So his wolfish grin comes back, his hand traveling down your stomach, stopping just above your mound as he cocks a brow at the way you seem to grow impatient, reaching the place you seemed to have in mind. 

“Here?” He asked quietly, his pointer finger moving to find your clit as you let out a quiet gasp, his expert fingers having nothing on your inexperienced ones. Sure you’ve touched yourself deep into the night when you made sure everybody was asleep, but it never felt like this. 

You couldn’t speak, so you nodded again, and that seemed to be good enough for Satoru as his finger moved down to your lips, a deep groan coming from within his chest as he felt how wet you were, and prodded his finger at your tight walls, slowly pushing past them as he seemed to be in a trance. 

You sucked him in so delightfully, pulsing against his as your slick stained his finger, making it easier for him to fuck you with a little bit more pace, careful not to hurt you, as he brought it back up to circle at your clit, trying to find what places you liked to be teased most. 

“O-oh my god,” your eyes rolled back in your head as his long find pushed back against your gummy walls, his other thumb finding your nub as you whined even louder, not used to feeling this good, spreading your legs out even further as you tried to make room for him. 

“There you go, s’perfect,” he said against your skin, dipping down as he moved a hand to keep your thighs further apart, “Mind if I have a taste?” And you were in another dimension, just cradling his neck as you pushed him to go further. 

He chuckled darkly, nearly going insane as he neared your glistening pussy, eyes growing dark as he moved his fingers away so that his tongue could have its turn, and you swore you almost came right there. 

He licked gingerly, savoring you first as he groaned, his thumb never giving up on circling and massaging your clit, but he began to eat you out as his life depended on it, licking and sucking like you were his last meal. 

“‘Toru, ‘Toru, fuck!” You screamed, biting your lip harshly as you kept your finger tight around his hair, “Don’t stop, please!” 

“F-fuck,” he murmured, coming up for a quick breath as he looked at you from his long white lashes, “Fucking kill me if I ever stop, okay?” 

He goes back in with the same amount of fervor, your chest moving up and down as you arch into his mouth, your jaw going slack as you quickly feel that rope in your stomach tightening, embarrassed at coming so early but knowing that there was no way you could stop yourself with the way he fingered you out at the same time he ate you out. 

“I’m yours,” he said against your skin, “I’ll always be yours.” It was out of place, but it seemed like he was branding it into your skin so that everybody else knew, knew that he belonged solely to you.

It was too much, and you felt like you were slowly losing your ability to think, talk, or do anything, and the only thing you could feel was him, and you felt it all coming to a crescendo as his mouth latched onto your clit, letting it all go as you came into his mouth. 

“‘M c-coming, mmmm fuck!” You couldn’t even believe the sounds you were making as you clenched around his finger, your essence coating his chin and hand as your legs were trembling, glad that he held a stable hand on your waist. 

You saw white for a couple of seconds, taking even longer to catch your breath, your tits rising and falling with each heave, and you suddenly felt like you came back down to earth, peeking out from an eye to see Satoru smiling down at you, his face soft and you whined in shock at what just happened, hiding your face into one of your pillows as he laughed lowly, the sound dripping down your ears like warm honey. 

“You just came around me, no need to be modest now.” He gently moved your face away from the sanctuary of your pillow so that you could look at him again, and he leaned down, pressing one final kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on him as you let out a muffled moan. 

“How do you feel?” He asked as he pulled away, sitting on his haunches, letting you drape the blanket around your sweaty chest as you tried to sit up, shaking a bit as you tried to recover from your mind-breaking orgasm. 

“Good,” you say groggily, wiping at your eyes as you give him a lazy, languid smile, “Really good.” 

“Yeah?” He asks, chuckling as you nod, finding his hands as you play with his long fingers, and he lets you watch as you let them entangle with each other, somehow feeling more connected through this than the previous activity as you slowly pull him back down towards you, wanting nothing more than to curl into his chest. 

“Give me a second love,” he wanted the same thing, but he pulled away, “Let me clean you up.” 

You didn’t fight it and let him go, watching as he found the pitcher of water on your desk as he found a clean rag and wet it, coming back to your bed until his eyes caught something under the sheets. 

He picked it up, reading it as he sat down next to you, running the cold towel across your thighs as you let out a little whimper at the temperature. He pressed an apologetic kiss to your forehead as he turned the paper around in silent questioning. 

Your eyes widened, trying to take it away but he held it above your head. If you had more fight in you, you might have wrestled for it, but you gave up, letting him clean you up as he tried not to laugh at how measly it was. 

“I doubt Cambell would know how to make you come.” He finally says, throwing the rag away somewhere as you groan, pushing his face slowly away as you try to fight the giddy laugh that was going to bubble its way from your chest. 

“Stop! Lily was just trying to help!” You argue and he waves his hands, loosening the buttons of his tunic as he crawls in next to you, pulling you flush against him as he kisses the tip of your nose. 

“It’s fine love,” he nestles his nose in your hairline, smiling when you hitch a leg over his, “You’re mine now.” 

You look up at him, tracing over his features with the light touch of your fingertips as he leans into your warmth. 

“Do you promise?” 

He gives a single nod, sliding the delicate ring over your finger, and closes his hand around yours. 

“Promise.” 

[servicpop]

✶ ﹑ㅤtutoring seshㅤ﹏

NOW STARRING : adrien x bottom m!reader

「ㅤNSFWㅤ」ㅤtutor sesh w/ your deliquent situationship but he can't focus on the studying, only you!

✙ warnings — parents are home , manhandling(?) , obsessive 'n a little pervy adrien , slight hair pulling , bodyworship(?) , Adrien is a little silly in this fic

notes ,, this was supposed to be short but I got carried away ^^;

Adrien had called you over to his house for a "tutoring session." For past few weeks, Adrien has been near-failing practically every single class except for gym class and whatnot. Realising he needed to improve his grades or he'll never graduate with you, he called you on one faithful evening to come over and help him study.

Obviously you complied; it was nice to see Adrien showing some sort of motivation to improve, so you changed into some casual clothes and began to walk to his house. You had prepared your laptop, pencil case, and textbooks, all ready to put in a few hours of tutoring. When you arrived at his front door, you grazed the back of your knuckles against the wood and knocked once or twice, expecting Adrien to show up with a proud smirk like he always did.

But it wasn't Adrien. When the door swung open, you saw his mother. You've only seen her once or twice but never up-close like this. The words caught in your throat as you clutched the straps of your bags, trying to find the words that never came. As if heaven answered your prayers, you saw Adrien jogging down the stairs and to the door, leaning on the door frame with his arm held above his head.

"You came," He grinned, taking the bag from your shoulders as he pulled you inside by your wrist. He helped you take off your shoes cinderella style and neatly placed them beside the doorway. He was awfully caring right now. Your hands felt crammy as you took a glance at Adrien's mother watching the two of you interact, a small blush dusted your ears while you quickly turned away. It must've looked like you were dating with the way she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Well, mom, we'll be in my room if you'd excuse us," Adrien flashed a toothy smile at his mother before snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you to his side. As he walked you up the stairs, Adrien found an opportunity to tease you, "You nervous meeting my mom?" He asked, squeezing your sides playfully. You shoot him an unamused gaze and he lets out a hearty chuckle from that. Adrien's hand wrapped around his gold doorknob, twisting it before he halted for a second. "Uh, wait here for a second, I gotta clean up my room," he didn't even wait for a response before slipping into his bedroom and closing the door behind him.

"Shit," Adrien muttered under his breath as he quickly shoved the polaroids and photos of you from his desk and into his drawer. He couldn't let you see how god damn obsessed he was about you. He couldn't let you see the photos of yourself stained with a white sheen, no, he wouldn't want to scare you off.

Adrien finally emerged from his room, pushing the door wide open for you to come in with a smile. You didn't question it. As you walked in, you were instantly hit with the scent of his cologne and natural musk. It wasn't a strong enough scent to burn your nose but it would still take you awhile to get used to it. Besides the scent, Adrien's bedroom was relatively clean for a guy who was titled 'the school deliquent.' He had a few sports posters plastered on the walls and his shelf had a few trophies from his childhood. You spotted the baseball bat leaned up against the wall alongside with the volleyball and basketball resting next to eachother. Adrien was sure athletic.

As you two sat down beside your desk, you pulled out all the equipment needed for studying and turned to Adrien, "What do you wanna study?" You asked him and got a small shrug in response. Well, why not start with biology since you conveniently happen to have a textbook that covered the subject.

Around 30 minutes pasted and you were diligently teaching him about human anatomy, glancing over to see him nodding once or twice. You thought it was going well but Adrien on the other hand... He was too focused on the way your hands glided against the pages, tapping the pen against the paper rhythmically, and how your eyes fluttered to him ever so often. Shit, he was horny as hell right now. Just the thought of those hands intertwining with his as he fucks the intelligence out of you is enough to get his blood pumping to the wrong places.

"Adrien? Are you listening?" Your voice snaps him out of his twisted fantasies and he leaned in closer to you, his voice dropping down to a whisper, "You know, I'm a hands-on, visual learner..." That shit-eating grin spread across his face as Adrien pat his lap enticingly, trying to draw your attention to the print in his sweatpants. But knowing you, you wouldn't give in so easily — you were called here to tutor him, not anything else.

"Just answer one more question and I'll—" Before you could even finish your sentence, Adrien's arms wrapped around your waist and he hoisted you up from the chair, practically slinging you over his shoulder. His forearms flexed around you, making sure you didn't fall before placing you on his bed, the mattress dipped from the sudden weight. "Try to be quiet 'kay? My parents are home," He nipped at the shell of your ear before hastily undoing your belt and sliding your pants off. Did he care that his parents could come in at any moment? No, but it was much more exciting to see you try and keep quiet.

"Can we kiss?" Adrien's voice was almost whiny, his eyelashes batted at you innocently — even though he was far from innocent. Nonetheless, you didn't respond, you've set certain boundaries that prevented you and him from getting attached (even though you may or may not have broken it a couple of times). "No," it was a simple, sharp answer that Adrien grumbled at. He understood where you were coming from, he was a bad influence and you were this goody-two-shoes. But he couldn't deny the part of him that wanted something more than just meaningless flings. He huffed, murmuring a small, "How can I study the muscles of a tongue then?"

Scooping you up back into his arms, Adrien ignored your small protests and shifted your position so that your stomach would lay flat against his bed. His hands met the back of yours, pinning you down as he slotted each of his fingers in the spaces between yours. "What happened to studying, Adrien?" Your scolds were muffled by Adrien's pillow and seemed to fall short of his ears. As he held you down, he grinded his hips against your ass, groaning softly from the pure excitement he felt. It had been a few months since he was about to get his hands on you, your pictures just wasn't as good as the real thing.

"Calvin klein hm?" Adrien chuckled softly, trailing his hands from the back of your palm, to your shoulders, down your spine, and to the waistband of your boxers, "Next time don't wear anything." His fingers hooked the elastic before pulling it down and off your legs. You couldn't see what he was doing from your position, and every touch made your skin jump, he was so unpredictable. His fingers traced the curve of your ass before spreading them apart to see your hole. "This is the anus right?" He asked, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

"—Yes," you hesitated to answer him, he was obviously playing games with you, but there was no harm in humoring him. You heard the faint rustling of clothes before you felt something prod at your entrance. You sucked in through your teeth, was he seriously going to do this with no lube? "Sorry, don't got any on me right now." It was like he read your mind and instead dipped his head down to lick a stripe over your hole. It tickled, and your body naturally jerked away from it before he grabbed your hips and held them down one more. Weirdo.

He shuffled behind you, placing two knees on either side of your legs and his fingers angled your hips a little bit up. The slight burn of Adrien pushing into you made your fingers curl around his pillow, gripping it like your life depended on it. He slowly pushed in, filling you up until his hips met your ass. Even if your skin was flushed against his, Adrien pushed impossibly deeper inside of you until he could feel his tip press against your prostate. His hands tightened around your waist, stopping you from squirming and forcing you to take it.

"Is this your prostate?" He asked, his voice slightly trembled from the pleasure that coursed his veins, he was trying so hard to control himself. This time you ignore him, you know well that he knew. From the lack of a response, Adrien let out a breathy laugh before he finally decided to move, pulling out almost all the way before slamming into you. Your eyes flew open and your knuckles grew pale from how hard you were holding onto his pillow, your whines were muffled quite well, thankfully.

Adrien groaned ruggedly as he pounded you into his bed, the headboard knocked on his wall with every thrust. "You're being so quiet," He chuckled, reaching a hand out to ruffle your hair affectionate before moving to grab your hand. You couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic enough with the way he kept slamming into you like it was a punishment. Everytime he pulled out, he cooed at the way your hole would suck him back in like it missed him. "Fuck, I just can't with you," He let out a shaky breath as he rolled his hips against you, pushing further and further, trying to reach places he couldn't before.

He was reaching so deep that tears began to blur your vision, everything felt so overwhelming but numb at the same time. He leaned down to press kisses on your knuckles as he held your hand tightly under his own. His hips were relentless, slapping against yours, you were sure he'd leave your bruised and sore tomorrow. It was like he completely forgot they weren't alone in his house. In fact, Adrien's fingers moved from your hand to your hair, threading them through each strand and grabbing a handful, tugging it gently so your head would lift from the pillow.

"Kiss?" He asked once more, his lips already ghosting over yours. At this point you didn't care, all you could feel was how Adrien was throbbing inside you and how your dick rubbed against his white sheets with every thrust. "Fine," you exhale and he took the opportunity almost immediately, capturing your mouth in a heated kiss as he pulled your hair back for more access. His tongue pushed past your lips, exploring your mouth while simultaneously keeping your moans contained.

The dim lighting, the way your eyes fluttered and threatened to roll back, his dick pulsing inside you, it was all too much for his perverted brain. "Gonna cum," he muttered against your lips, biting on your bottom lip. He his hands return to your hips and his head falls over your shoulder. You could feel your own orgasm building up as your body started to squirm, you cock growing sensitive from the constant rubbing against Adrien's sheets. Adrien paused his thrusting just to pull out completely and shove himself back in, causing a loud whine rip from your throat and you body jolting.

Your cum splattered across the bed as Adrien smiled against your shoulder, keeping you from squirming as he came inside you, filling you with his semen. With a few more wet thrusts, Adrien finally stilled, watching as his own cum bubbled around his dick as he nestled deep inside you. "We should do this again, hm? Next time we can study our chemistry," his arms snaked up your body to wrap them around your shoulders, capturing you in a bear hug as he looked up at you with a goofy smile.

"What's with you and being so corny?" You groan, pushing his face away from you.

a/n: i luv adrien sosososo much ... wish he real ,, also not sure if he was a bit ooc here ,, a bit sillier than usual but I hope you guys like it ♡

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 8: "The one with Dante and Beatrice" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: Things are a little different in Frankie’s mind. Apparently, you’re in there more often than you think. WC: 12k

A/N: I hope you like this one <3 I want you to know that from Frankie's perspective, things have been getting complicated for quite some time. Don’t forget to share your thoughts in the comments, love reading them!!!If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications! love you <3

He wanted to give you space, time. He told himself that over and over again, like a mantra. And if there was one thing he'd been unwaveringly certain about, it was that all of this—this charade, this carefully constructed performance—would end the second you asked him to stop. It would keep going for as long as you wanted, for as long as you needed. Until you got tired of it. Until you got tired of him.

Frankie wasn’t sure what he expected when he got in his car that afternoon and drove to your place. He had no plan, no rehearsed words, no real sense of what he was walking into. All he knew was that the past few weeks had been unbearable, spent in a strange limbo of guilt and something else—something more insidious, more consuming, something he refused to name. And it was starting to drive him out of his mind.

That morning, he’d woken up groggy, his head pounding dully from the night before. He’d had a few drinks, nothing excessive, but enough to leave him sluggish. The guys had been at Will’s place, and they’d stayed late, shooting the shit, letting time pass the way they always did—until Santi asked how things were going. Casual, but not really. And Frankie didn’t lie. Why would he? Why should he? So he told him everything, laid it all out like an offering, and when it was over, he felt an immense weight lift from his chest.

He told Santi everything. Let it spill out like a confession, every detail that had been pressing on him, rattling around in his chest like loose change. And when he was finished, he felt lighter, relieved in a way that made him a little sick. Like he had unloaded something heavy onto someone else and could finally breathe again.

Santi listened, nodding, his expression unreadable. Then he said, flatly, “I get it. But she's my sister, and I love you both so just... Stop.”

Frankie nodded. He hesitated, then asked about you—had you said anything? Had you mentioned him? If you had, what had you told Santi?

But Santi was brief, uninterested in being the middleman. He shrugged, took a sip of his beer, and said, “I dunno know. Go ask her.” A casual pat on the back, like that was the end of the conversation. Like the solution was that simple.

Frankie thought about it all night.

Would you even answer the door? Or would you tell him to fuck off before he could get a word out?

The questions followed him into sleep, looping over and over in his mind. He passed out on top of his sheets, still in his jeans, the heat thick and suffocating, pressing down on his skin like a punishment. The next day, he woke up feeling like hell, his head pounding. Took a painkiller dry, then stood under the shower until the cold turned his skin raw.

And then he went to you.

And you opened the door. You let him in.

And for a brief moment, he thought that was it. That you’d sit down together, have a rational conversation, lay everything out cleanly, like two people sorting through a mess they’d both agreed to finally put to rest.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Instead, you told him everything. You let it spill out, sharp and unfiltered, all the ways he had made you feel, how hard it had been, how unfair. But most of all, you told him that you had heard him. That years ago, you had overheard him talking to Will.

That was the part that stunned him, the part that felt like ice water down his back.

Because all these years, he had been confused about everything—about you, about why things between you had always felt sharp and unsolvable. He had never quite understood the root of it, never really asked himself why. And now, hearing it from you, it was so clear. It had been his fault. All along, it had been him.

He wanted to explain. He wanted to tell you why, to make you understand. But he wasn’t sure he could yet. He wasn’t sure he wanted to open that door—to expose himself to a different kind of vulnerability, the kind he had been avoiding for years.

And from your perspective, it was all just confirmation. He was exactly who you had always thought he was. A smug, careless asshole who had pushed you too far, again and again, until you finally snapped.

That’s why he wasn’t surprised when you told him you were tired. Tired of this thing between you, whatever it was. Tired of the constant tension, the sharp edges, the way it never seemed to settle into anything that didn’t leave one of you bleeding.

“I want this to end,” you said, watching him carefully, like you were waiting for some kind of reaction. He felt a flicker of something beneath his ribs—sharp, immediate, gone too fast to name.

“What?”

“This,” you repeated, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “The fights. The confusion. I’ve had enough. I don’t want it anymore.”

For a moment, he just looked at you. Silent. The light filtering in through the window softened the lines of your face, turned your skin softer, almost glowing. He had the sudden, ridiculous urge to reach out and trace his fingertips over your cheekbone.

He didn’t.

“Right,” he said instead. “I don’t want it either. And I get it. If you want me to stay away, I will. I’ll tell Santi. I’ll keep my distance if that’s—”

“No.”

You cut him off before he could finish, stepping just the slightest bit closer, and it sent a prickle of confusion up his spine.

“I don’t want that either,” you said.

Try again. Be normal. Be cordial. It made sense, didn’t it? Two people with history deciding to rewrite it, to turn it into something easier, something less jagged. Like normal adults who could be in the same room without pressing on old wounds.

And yet—he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. Couldn’t understand why you wanted to try again. Why, after everything, you were even slightly interested in salvaging this.

But he wouldn’t ask. He wouldn’t say it out loud. Because some small, irrational part of him was afraid that if he did, you’d stop and really think about it. You’d realize that whatever you were doing was pointless, that he wasn’t worth the effort.

And then you’d look at him and say, Actually, Francisco, fuck you. I don’t want to see you ever again.

If you told him that—if you looked him in the eye and said you’d changed your mind, that this was pointless, that you didn’t want him in your life at all—he would understand. Of course he would. But for some reason, the thought of it settled uncomfortably in his chest, heavier than he expected.

So instead, he would help you with your list.

That, at least, made sense. He knew about those things, the ones you had written down. They were his kind of thing—outdoor activities, experiences that required skill, control, an understanding of risk. He had been trained for almost all of it. If you wanted to go climbing, he could take you. He’d make sure you placed your feet right, that your harness was secure, that you knew how to read the rock beneath your hands. If you wanted to go camping, he would set up your tent or help you do it yourself, show you how to choose the safest place to sleep, rattle off a list of survival tips without even thinking. And if you wanted to go skinny dipping—well. He knew where to take you for that too. Somewhere like Hippie Hollow Park if you were feeling bold. Somewhere more secluded if you weren’t.

And yet, somehow, the first thing you wanted to do was skydiving. That one actually surprised him.

Still, sure. He would do it with you. No hesitation. He had a guy in Lexington, an old friend who was an instructor. It took him all of ten minutes to send a message that same night. By the time he put his phone down, it was settled. All that was left was for you to pick the day and time.

But he didn’t text you. Not right away. He figured he’d bring it up sometime during the week. When? He didn’t know. And he didn’t have to think too much about it because by the time monday rolled around, Helena showed up at his door unexpectedly—just as he was getting home from the airport, exhausted from a twelve-hour day, six of which had been spent in the air.

He wasn’t complaining. He knew plenty of retired pilots who had taken up instructing in other places, and most of them were barely scraping by—too many hours, not enough pay, burning themselves out for companies that didn’t give a shit. Frankie, at least, had gotten lucky. The school that hired him paid well, better than most. Flight hours, ground hours—it was all compensated fairly, which wasn’t something a lot of guys could say. 

Frankie felt he was luckier than he had any right to be, really. Because when he was discharged a couple of years ago, there had been nothing reassuring about his future. Nothing. He'd left his position before even turning thirty-five, his mental health hanging by a thread, his sense of purpose unraveling faster than he could stitch it back together. Everything felt like a sacrifice, and worse than that—he felt like a failure. All the time.

So, yeah. He was lucky.

Lucky to land a decent job—fifty five bucks an hour, flying from twenty to thirty-five hours a week, some days busy, others quieter. He preferred the time in the air. The ground felt too loud, too heavy. But up there, everything stilled. Up there, he could breathe. His body remembered what it was built for.

Lately, though, he was tired.

He’d spent the last few weeks pushing himself past ten-hour days, taking on extra students, filling his schedule until there was barely enough time to eat, let alone think. Because every time he came home, the silence felt suffocating. The walls pressing in, the weight of something unspoken settling on his chest.

And maybe—maybe—the fight with you had a little something to do with that.

But he wanted to give you time, didn’t he? That was the whole point. That was why, when he saw Helena standing outside his house that afternoon, arms crossed, wearing the easy kind of smile that meant she wasn’t actually mad at him—yet—he felt that strange pull in his stomach. Not quite guilt, not quite dread. Something heavier, more tangled.

Frankie smelled like the wind. His hair was tucked under a cap, still messy at the edges, and he was wearing dark sunglasses even though the sun had already started sinking behind the houses. His back ached in a way that made him feel older than he was, but Helena barely gave him a second to register any of it before she was stepping forward, wrapping her arms around him in a brief but warm hug.

“I’m just coming to check in,” she said lightly, stepping past him into the house. She scanned the living room, eyes sharp, like she was taking an inventory of every single thing that had changed since the last time she’d been here. The place was tidy. Suspiciously tidy. “You’ve barely answered your phone.”

Frankie sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“I haven’t been ignoring you,” he said, already anticipating the direction this conversation was about to take. “I’ve just been busy. And when I get home, I... sleep.”

Helena hummed, like she didn’t totally believe him but was willing to let it slide for now.

“Just take care of yourself,” she said, and then, as if she’d only been waiting for a beat of silence to slip the question in naturally, “Have you seen her? How’s she doing?”

He smiled despite himself, because of course she would ask. He looked at his mother with something like amusement, something like fondness.

“She’s fine. And yes, I know what you’re going to ask.”

Helena raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Do you?”

“Yeah.”

That seemed to satisfy her, at least a little. She nodded, glancing around the room again before saying, like it had only just occurred to her, “Wednesday, seven o’clock.”

Frankie frowned. “You already picked a day?”

“Well, yes. But if that doesn’t work, Thursday. Or—” She waved a hand, brushing off her own urgency. “Just let me know when she can.”

“This week, you mean?”

“Yes, this week,” she said, like it was obvious. “I’m visiting aunt Eli this weekend.”

He shook his head, smiling. “You’re a busy woman, huh?”

“Yes,” she said, leveling him with a look. “And I answer my phone too.”

She poked him gently in the stomach, and he laughed, nudging her hand away.

Later that night, Frankie pulled out his phone and typed out a message. He was already bracing himself for you to say no, to suggest some vague future alternative that would never quite materialize.

Instead, your reply came quickly.

[🍓]:  I like wednesday :) tell your mom we’ll be there

Frankie read the message again, then set his phone down on the nightstand. His hair was still damp from the shower, curling slightly at the ends, and he was wearing what he usually wore to bed—that is, just his underwear. The air in his room was cool against his skin, but he didn’t bother pulling the covers over himself. Instead, he lay there for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling, then reached for his phone again.

He stared at the ceiling for maybe five seconds before picking his phone up again.

[F]  Okay, I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.

Your reply came almost instantly.

[🍓]: Okay. And what should I wear?

Frankie hesitated for a second, then typed:

[F]: Hopefully clothes

A beat. Then:

[🍓]: 🙄

[🍓]: I meant… what kind of clothes

[F]: Idk, something nice

[F]: Dress like you always do

[🍓]: Are you saying I dress cute?

He thought about playing dumb. But teasing you was starting to feel as easy as breathing.

[F]: Actually, yeah

The three little dots appeared immediately.

Then they disappeared.

Frankie grinned, waiting. A few seconds later, they reappeared—only to vanish again.

Okay. This was fun.

Finally, after a long pause, the dots came back, and this time, they stayed.

[🍓]: I’ll wear something nice then

And of course, you did.

When Frankie pulled up outside the bookstore on wednesday, you stepped out wearing a fitted white tee and a black mini skirt that just barely skimmed mid-thigh. There was something effortless about it, something that made the whole thing look even better—like you hadn’t tried too hard, but still, somehow, had nailed it. Your purse hung off one shoulder, and as you reached him, you did a slow turn, walking a few steps back and forth in front of him, hands wiggling at your sides.

“So?” you prompted, tilting your head. “What do you think?”

Frankie was leaning against the hood of his car, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes flicked over you, taking in every detail, and then, before he could stop it, a slow smile spread across his face.

He nodded, the dimple in his cheek making an appearance. “Yeah. Works for me.”

You stopped right in front of him, close enough that he could catch the faint scent of your perfume. Your arms crossed over your chest, and your eyes, darker in the dimming light, pinned him in place.

“That’s it?” you asked. “That’s all you have to say to me? I’m supposed to be your girlfriend, you know.”

Frankie exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly as if giving your words some serious consideration. Then he nodded again.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “Even though there’s literally no one watching us right now, huh?”

“That’s not true,” you countered immediately, jerking your chin to the left. “See?”

Frankie followed your gaze. Down the block, an old woman was making her way in the opposite direction, moving at a glacial pace.

He snorted. “You think she’s our audience?”

“She could be.”

“She’s not even looking.”

“And you’re willing to take that risk?”

Frankie arched an eyebrow, half amused, half intrigued by your persistence. Now that you’d decided to stop arguing with him at every possible opportunity, was this what was going to replace it? This playful, harmless kind of provocation? The teasing that didn't sting, the banter that made your eyes light up instead of narrow?

If so, he didn’t mind. Not at all.

Because as much as you liked pushing him, he liked pushing back. Seeing how far he could take it before you finally tripped over your own words. And if he had to admit something—it was that you were good at this. Always had a comeback, always knew exactly where to poke to throw him off balance. But he had his own strengths. And he could win, too.

The way you were looking at him now—he recognized it instantly. Slow, measured, a devilish little glint in your eyes. You were trying to fluster him, the same way you had that night at the hotel bar on Helena’s birthday, when you leaned in just a little too close, held eye contact just a little too long, waiting to see if he’d be the first to break.

“So?” you prompted, that knowing smile still curving your lips. You were in a good mood, clearly.

But Frankie knew how to play this game too.

Without a second thought, he reached for you, both hands slipping around your waist as he pulled you in—closer, closer, until your body was nearly flush against his. Your hands collided with his chest, and he felt your palms settle there, warm through the fabric of his T-shirt. Your smile faltered for just a fraction of a second. You held it, but he could see the effort.

Yeah. He had you now.

He leaned in, just enough to catch the faint, sugary scent of your lip gloss—cherry—and the way the light from the streetlamp above made your lips glisten. He watched, satisfied, as your smile twitched, threatened to waver.

“Sweetheart, you look breathtakingly beautiful,” he murmured, letting his voice drop lower. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. I’m so lucky to be yours.”

Your cheeks darkened instantly.

And that—that—was his victory.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he straightened up, peeling himself off the hood of the car and pulling you with him, keeping a firm hand on your waist. He reached for the door handle, swinging it open smoothly.

“Now... baby?” he said, eyes flicking down to yours, “get in the damn car. We're late.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, face still suspiciously warm, and lifted a hand to give him a light tap on the shoulder.

“Thank you. Whatever.” You waved a dismissive hand. “You look good too.”

Frankie barely managed to hold back his laugh as he shut the door behind you.

On the way to Helena’s house, you were quieter than before. Not in an uncomfortable way, not the kind of silence that stretches awkwardly between two people who don’t know what to say. This was something else—an easy, unspoken quiet. Still, Frankie kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye, subtle but frequent, like he was checking for something. You didn’t notice.

In his mind, a dozen thoughts churned. Had he overdone it? The whole performance, the teasing, the things he’d said—was it too much? He wasn’t sure. Maybe you were annoyed. Or maybe you weren’t thinking about it at all.

He drove through the streets downtown, passing familiar landmarks, getting closer to his mother’s neighborhood. The sun was beginning to dip lower, casting long shadows over the pavement. The air in the car was warm, tinged with the scent of something faintly citrusy—your perfume, maybe.

“Everything okay?” he asked, curiosity outweighing restraint.

You turned your head to look at him, smiling softly, genuinely.

“Yeah. Why?”

He shrugged, glancing at you before returning his eyes to the road.

“You’re quiet, that’s all.”

“Ah, I’m just a little tired. Didn’t sleep well last night.”

“No?” He flicked his eyes toward you again. “Why not?”

You hesitated. He felt it more than saw it. The way the air shifted slightly, how you didn’t answer right away. He tightened his jaw without meaning to. He could feel you looking at him now, studying his face like there was something there worth inspecting.

“What?” he asked, turning his head just enough to smirk at you.

“I dunno,” you said finally. “I had a weird dream, and then I couldn’t get back to sleep. And then Mr. Darcy broke a glass in the kitchen, so I got up and just started my day.”

Frankie exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.

“Did he hurt himself?”

“Nope.”

“So,” he said, dragging out the word, “what’d you dream about? A nightmare?”

“Nevermind,” you said, shifting to look out the window. “I can never make sense of my dreams, anyway.”

“Tell me.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No. It’s embarrassing.”

He frowned, exaggerated, amused.

“Oh, come on. How bad could it be? Did you pee yourself?”

You gasped, reaching out to swat his arm. He grinned but kept his eyes on the road.

“You totally did,” he said, nodding to himself. “I can hear it in your silence. You peed your pants.”

“I did not pee my pants!” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest. “And I’m not telling you what it was about, anyway. You’ll just have to wonder forever.”

He let out a long, dramatic sigh, shaking his head.

“No, don’t say that. Now I won’t be able to sleep. I’ll lie awake at night, tormented. Wondering—what could my fake girlfriend have possibly dreamed about?”

“And how’s your mom?” you asked, shifting the conversation onto safer ground.

Frankie’s response was brief, almost dismissive.

“She’s fine,” he said. “Waiting for you.” He didn’t elaborate, didn’t offer any additional details. Just left it at that.

Five minutes later, Helena greeted you at the door, pulling you into a warm hug, her arms wrapped tightly around you before she pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Oh, look at you,” she said, leaning back just enough to take you in, her hands still resting lightly on your arms. “You look absolutely stunning, darlin'. So beautiful.”

Your face grew warm almost instantly.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice quiet, slightly embarrassed.

Frankie watched from the side, noting the way your shoulders tensed, the way your gaze dipped slightly. The flush on your cheeks made the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

“You look beautiful too,” you told her, voice sincere. “I love your dress.”

Helena cocked her head to the side, clearly pleased.

“Oh, really? Thank you, sweetheart. That’s so kind.” She stepped back, ushering you inside. “Come in, come in.”

Frankie, lingering behind, cleared his throat. “No hug for me?”

Helena rolled her eyes but turned to him anyway, pulling him into a firm, affectionate embrace before kissing his cheek.

“You look handsome too,” she said, pulling back slightly to study him. Her eyes narrowed. “But you look different. Did you do something to yourself? Get a haircut?”

“Maybe,” he admitted.

She nodded slowly, then reached up, brushing her fingers against the sharp line of his jaw.

“I know what it is,” she mused, her voice teasing. “You always get cuter when you’re in love.” She winked at him.

Behind them, you laughed softly, watching the interaction unfold with something close to fond amusement. Frankie turned his head just slightly, just enough to catch the expression on your face, before exhaling and stepping toward you. His hand found the small of your back as he guided you further inside.

Helena led the way into the living room.

“So, where’s Mai?” Frankie asked as they walked.

“She’s on her way,” Helena said. “She went to the movies with Pam.”

Frankie motioned toward the couch, silently telling you to sit. You did, and a moment later, he dropped down beside you, his body landing a little too close, his thigh just barely brushing against yours.

“Ah,” he said, for no apparent reason.

Helena took the armchair next to you, leaning in slightly, her gaze warm, affectionate.

“How are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m good, thank you,” you said, mirroring her smile. “And you?”

“Oh, I’m wonderful,” she sighed, settling back. “Even better now that I have the two of you here. For a second, I thought something had happened—you know how Frankie is. Not exactly the most attentive on the phone.”

You turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, yeah. What are we gonna do?”

He was reclining against the couch now, one arm stretched across the backrest behind you. You glanced at him, at the way his shirt pulled slightly across his chest, at the way his fingers tapped absently against the cushion. For some reason, your gaze drifted downward before snapping back up. He shifted in his seat, like he’d noticed.

“Why don’t you just give me your number?” Helena suggested with a smile. “That way we—”

“Okay, c'mon,” Frankie interrupted suddenly, grabbing your hand before you could process it, pulling you up with him. “I’ll show you my old room. Until Mai gets here.”

“Francisco,” you muttered, glaring at him.

You turned to Helena instead. “Do you need help with anything?”

She stood too, shaking her head. “No, no, everything’s ready. You’re my special guest, sweetheart. Don’t worry about a thing. Go on, go.” She waved a hand, already half-smiling at the whole interaction.

Frankie, still holding your hand, tugged you gently toward the hallway. You sighed, letting him lead you.

“You didn’t have to cut her off like that,” you muttered under your breath, the words meant for him alone.

Frankie didn’t acknowledge the reproach, didn’t slow down or look back. He just kept walking, pulling you along with him like it was inevitable. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was unyielding, like he knew you wouldn’t follow if he let go too soon. The house felt quieter away from the living room.

Upstairs, he stopped in front of a door—varnished wood, gleaming under the dim light of the hallway. Without a word, he pushed it open and, in the same motion, released your wrist. He tipped his head toward the room, an unspoken instruction.

You stepped inside, arms crossed, your gaze adjusting to the dark. Behind you, Frankie shut the door and switched on a lamp perched on his bedside table. The room shifted under the glow, details surfacing in the soft light.

“Do you have any idea what would happen if my mom got your number?” he asked, leaning back against the desk by the window. His arms folded over his chest, and he watched you move through his space, the sight of you here—among his things—unsettling in a way he couldn’t name.

The room was warm, familiar in the way all well-lived-in spaces are. The walls, a deep kensington blue, were cluttered with posters—Pearl Jam, Wu-Tang Clan, Alice in Chains. You took them in, then drifted toward the bookshelf, running your fingers over the spines of neatly arranged books and notebooks. Star Wars figurines stood like sentinels between them and a couple of sports trophies sat beside them, dust catching in the light.

“Oh, I dunno,” you mused, tilting your head, “would she… talk to me?” You shot him a glance. “I didn’t know you were a Star Wars fan.”

A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah. Exactly. She’d talk to you. She’d call you. And we don’t need that kind of closeness, given our situation.”

“Our situation,” you echoed, rolling the words around your mouth like they were foreign to you. Then you turned fully, closing the distance between you and him with a measured step. You tilted your head, studying him. “Well, you’re probably right. But you didn’t have to cut her off and haul me off the couch like that. That was rude.”

He shrugged, the motion effortless, indifferent. “It was the first thing that came to mind. I’m sorry.”

“Good,” you said, as you moved through the room, taking in every detail as if committing it to memory.

Near the desk, a basket ball rested against the leg of a folding chair, a black duffel bag slumped beside it, the fabric worn at the seams. The bed—narrow, neatly made—sat in the center of the room, facing the window. The dark gray comforter was pulled tight, a sharp contrast to the scattered items around it. On one bedside table, the lamp cast a soft glow, grounding the space in warmth. On the other, a picture frame leaned against a small stack of books, their spines creased from use.

Frankie stood a few steps away, arms still folded, head tilted down slightly, his gaze steady on you. There was something guarded in the way he watched, like he was waiting to see what you would find, what conclusions you might draw from the objects that had quietly accumulated over the years.

You wandered to the dresser, your attention caught by the corkboard mounted just above it. Photographs, ticket stubs, and scraps of old notes filled the space, overlapping in a way that suggested years of quiet additions rather than any real attempt at curation.

“No way,” you said suddenly, stepping closer, your fingers hovering just above a small, slightly faded photo. “This is you?”

Frankie moved beside you, following your gaze. The picture showed a little boy, no more than three years old, grinning at the camera, his face lit with pure, unfiltered joy. From the chest down, he was covered in mud, tiny fingers gripping a garden hose.

“It’d be weird if it wasn’t me, don’t you think?” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, it would be pretty weird.”

Your eyes drifted upward, landing on another photograph—an even younger version of him, maybe two years old, perched on his father’s lap. He was mid-laugh, his smile so wide it turned his eyes into crescents. His dad, leaning in, was pointing at the camera, as if directing him where to look.

“Oh,” you murmured, something warm settling in your chest. “You were so cute.” You lifted your hand slightly, gesturing toward the photo with the tip of your finger.

Frankie stared at it, something shifting in his expression. The smile that surfaced was small, almost absentminded. 

In that photo, Gabriel would have been close to the age Frankie was now. The thought struck him in a way he hadn’t expected, settling deep in his ribs.

He didn’t let himself think about him often—not for too long, not in any real way. The memories had sharp edges, capable of cutting through even the best intentions. He told himself he was lucky, that he’d had the kind of dad people spent lifetimes wishing for. But no matter how he framed it, the truth remained: he had lost him. And no matter how many times he tried to reach back through memory, to anchor himself in the past, he would never see him again in this life.

Most of the time, he was fine. He moved through his days with ease, followed the usual rhythms of his life without slipping too deep into the spaces where grief still lingered. He had learned how to exist in a version of reality where his dad was no longer a part of it. And most days, it was almost easy. Almost.  

But then, without warning, something would pull him back. It could be anything—a smell, a sound, a fleeting glimpse of a stranger on the street with the same posture, the same salt-and-pepper hair. Sometimes it was the scent of coffee, and for a split second, he’d expect to hear his father humming under his breath, flipping through the newspaper at the kitchen table. Sometimes it was a phrase, a turn of speech, something small and unremarkable that sent his mind reeling backward.  

Once, it was toast crumbs on the floor.  

He had been walking through the kitchen, barefoot, when he felt them under his heel—tiny, uneven grains pressing into his skin. The sensation triggered something immediate and sharp. His mind conjured the memory before he had a chance to resist it: his mom, sighing in exasperation as she swept under the table, grumbling about how his dad never remembered to wipe away the mess after breakfast. And sure enough, every time you moved a chair, there they were—scattered remnants of toast from the morning, a predictable constant.  

But now, the floor was always clean. There were no crumbs anymore.

No one forgot to sweep. No one was there to be scolded.  

Frankie crouched down without thinking, pressing his fingertips to the specks of bread as if touching them would anchor him to something. He stayed like that for too long, staring at them, his chest tightening, his throat burning with something too large to swallow down. And then, before he could stop himself, he was crying—suddenly, violently, without preamble.  

Because that was what grief was, mostly. A quiet, steady thing that made itself small enough to carry until, inevitably, it found a way to remind you of its weight.

“You look a lot like your dad,” you said suddenly, pulling him out of his own head.  

Frankie exhaled through his nose, his gaze flicking back to the photograph. “You think so?”  

You nodded, studying the picture again. “Yeah. Same eyes, same smile. Same head full of hair.”  

A small smile played at the corner of his mouth. “That’s a great compliment. Thank you.”  

“It is,” you said, tilting your head slightly. “You’re welcome.”  

Your eyes met for a second too long, something unspoken stretching between you before you looked away. You spun on your heels, crossing the room to the bed and sitting down with an easy drop, the mattress shifting under your weight. You pressed your palms into the comforter at your sides, fingers splayed behind you, staring absently at your feet.  

“It’s nice of your mom to keep your room the way it was,” you said, glancing around again. “Do you ever sleep in here?”  

Frankie walked over and sat beside you, his posture relaxed, knee bumping lightly against yours.

“Not so much anymore,” he admitted. “But I stayed for a couple of weeks after I left the CAG.”  

You turned your head toward him, brows pulling together like the question had come to you suddenly, urgently.

“And where do you live?”  

“At my house.”  

“And where is your house?”  

“In my neighborhood.”  

A sharp sigh escaped you, and you let yourself fall back onto the bed, arms sprawled out as you stared at the ceiling. Frankie laughed, watching you with something like amusement. You turned your head, meeting his gaze for a few beats longer than necessary before sitting up abruptly, as if realizing something all at once. Heat crept up your neck.  

You cleared your throat, stealing a glance at him from the corner of your eye.  

The smile on Frankie’s face widened slightly. He shifted, propping himself up on his arm, leaning a little closer, just enough to make you notice.  

“Old Enfield,” he finally said.  

Your brows lifted. “That’s nice.”  

“Hartford Road,” he added. “Two bedroom, one bathroom.”  

“Are you trying to sell me your house?”  

He smirked. “A couple of trees in the yard for Darcy to sharpen his claws on.”  

“Oh,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I bought him some toys for that.”  

Frankie tilted his head slightly. “I guarantee it doesn’t feel as good as a solid tree trunk.”  

“No?”  

“No.”  

“How do you know? Is that how you handle stress? You come home all tense, and the first thing you do is scratch your tree?”  

A slow, amused smile crept onto your lips, your eyes bright in the warm lamplight.  

Frankie huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah? Imagine how many trees I’ve torn up since I met you.”  

Your mouth parted slightly in exaggerated offense, and you let out a sharp gasp. “Really? What does that even mean? You must think about me a lot.”  

Frankie snorted. “How smug.”

A teasing smile curled at the corners of your lips. “If it bothers you that much, it must be true.”

"Sure."

"I bet you think about me."

"I really wouldn't take it as a compliment."

"Why not? Isn't your mind a good place for me?"

Frankie exhaled a quiet laugh, something just shy of a scoff.

“I can think of plenty of places you’d rather be.”

"Oh I dunno," you said, glancing around as if considering your options. "Seems pretty comfortable in here."

"For you, maybe." He tapped a finger against his temple. "Imagine being me. Living with a restless woman pacing around up here all day."

"Oh, baby. I've been there. All. My. Life. You can keep her, if you want."

Frankie let out a sharp laugh. “What, and lose my mind in the process?”

"Wow, Francisco." You turned to him fully now, studying his face in the low light. "Does she really get to you that much?"

"Oh, I bet you'd love that."

"Look at us," voice light, teasing. "Getting to know each other."

Frankie exhaled sharply, tilting his head as he settled back against the mattress. His hand rested just behind yours, close enough that the heat from his skin registered against your own.

“You really woke up in a particular mood today, huh?” he murmured. “Not bad for someone who barely slept and, you know, wet the bed.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“I did not wet the bed,” you said, dragging out each word for emphasis. “Jesus, let it go.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you tipped your head back, closing your eyes.  

Frankie smirked, but it faltered when his gaze drifted—unintentionally at first, and then not at all—to the exposed curve of your neck. The soft skin there, the way the dim light caught the angle of your jaw. His stomach tensed, a sharp, unwanted awareness settling into his chest. He looked away fast, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t, fixing his eyes on the floor.  

What the hell was wrong with him?  

He wasn’t supposed to be looking at you like that. He wasn’t supposed to notice the slope of your shoulder or the way your breath moved through your ribs. His eyes weren’t supposed to track your every shift, like his body had decided on its own to be attuned to yours. But it was happening, whether he liked it or not.  

It hadn’t always been like this.  

Once, things were simpler—sharper, with cleaner edges. He hadn’t tolerated you, and you hadn’t tolerated him. That was the nature of things. You hardly spoke, and when you did, your conversations were clipped, necessary, transactional. Sure, he’d always known you were attractive—he wasn’t fucking blind—but it had never been something that lingered, something that rooted itself in his thoughts. The way you grated on him had left no space for anything else.  

Yeah. That was the dynamic. A bad relationship, plain and simple. No subtext, no buried tension.  

But something had shifted between the trip to Dallas and now. If Frankie had to pinpoint the exact moment, he’d place it right on Helena’s birthday. Because ever since that night, something had been moving inside him, spreading through his chest like a slow-burning fire, like an untamed creature waking up after years of stillness.  

A different kind of curiosity.  

The urge to understand what went on in your head, to know what you thought about when you were quiet, when your gaze lingered somewhere far away. A desire to pick apart the details of your life, the things you held close, the things you refused to share. And that morning, after the party, when he caught the shift in your expression—something breaking behind your eyes, something pulling you inward and shutting you off—he recognized it immediately. Because he had seen that same look staring back at him in the mirror more times than he could count.  

And the second he recognized it, something unfamiliar and unsteady took root in him. A pull, an absurd, inexplicable need to get you out of that place—to drag you away from whatever was weighing you down, from whatever was making your world feel so suffocatingly blue.  

After that, he started thinking about you more often. Too often. And it unsettled him, the way his thoughts drifted to you without permission, how your voice lingered in his mind long after a conversation ended. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  

And then there was the argument in the car. That had been worse than he expected. Not just because he’d been careless—insensitive, pressing too hard on things that weren’t his to touch—but because your words had struck something raw in him, something buried deep. And instead of feeling angry at you for it, he only felt the sharp sting of truth. It hurt, yeah, but it wasn’t the kind of hurt that made him resent you. It was the kind that made him resent himself a little more.

The weeks that followed were filled with thoughts of you, tangled and persistent, full of doubt and questions he wasn’t ready to answer.  

And then he went to see you.  

And the moment he did, he knew—whatever had changed, whatever had started that night at Helena’s birthday, it wasn’t something he could ignore anymore. Because it was here now, settled into his ribs, pressing against his lungs every time he looked at you.

And there was something different about you too. Frankie couldn’t ignore it. The way you looked at him—out of the corner of your eye, like you were in on some secret he hadn’t been let in on. You’d done it in the car, then again downstairs, and now, here, in the dim glow of his bedroom. It was subtle but persistent, like you knew something he didn’t.  

The strangest part was that it didn’t bother him. If anything, it only deepened his curiosity. This version of you—relaxed, playful, teasing—was unfamiliar but undeniably intriguing. It made him want to look closer, to figure out what had shifted between you.  

He glanced at you again. And there you were, already looking back at him.  

“What did you dream?” he asked, his voice quieter than he intended.  

Your head tilted slightly. “Why do you care?”  

“I didn’t, at first. But you’re being so secretive about it, and now I’m… curious.”  

“Too curious for your own good, I assume. Like a cat.” You crossed one leg over the other, shifting your weight, angling your body toward him.  

Frankie held your gaze, resisting the instinct to look anywhere else.  

“That’s another thing I have in common with them,” he mused.  

A small laugh escaped you. “Oh yeah? Sharpening your claws and letting curiosity win?”  

“Aha.” The corner of his mouth lifted.  

“Well,” you said, eyes flickering with something unreadable. “If I were you, I’d be careful. Last time Mr. Darcy let his curiosity get the better of him, he broke a glass.” You paused, watching him closely. “And you don’t want to break anything, do you?”

"I'm still deciding."  

You studied him, head tilted slightly, lips pursed just enough to suggest amusement.

"I'll tell you, but only if you give me something in return. A fair trade, don’t you think?"  

Frankie clicked his tongue, considering.

"Wel, it depends," he said, scratching his chin with the hand that had been resting in his lap. "What kind of information are we talking about?"  

"Tell me what you were talking about with Will."  

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "It's not that interesting."  

"Come on, tell me." You leaned in, just a fraction, your gaze locked onto his. "I deserve to know, don’t I? It’s about me. Tell me, and I’ll tell you about my dream."  

"I’ll tell you anything but that—for now."  

"Why?"  

Frankie exhaled, deep and measured.

"Alright. Don’t tell me your dream, then." He turned his head, fixing his eyes on the far wall, where an old, faded Soundgarden poster hung.  

You stiffened beside him. He felt it. And even though he tried to resist, his gaze found its way back to you.  

"I’ll tell you," he said, softer this time. "I promise."  

"When?"  

"I just need to be sure about something first."  

"Sure about what?"  

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you, studying your face as if searching for something. His eyes traced the slope of your cheek, the set of your mouth, the way your lashes flickered as you watched him. Then, as if deciding against saying more, he dropped his gaze to the floor and let out another sigh, this one heavier.  

"We should head down," he murmured, shifting to stand.  

You stayed where you were, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. He moved toward the door but didn’t open it right away. Instead, he turned, waiting for you. His hand rested on the handle, fingers tapping once.  

"C'mon," he said.  

Your body moved before your mind fully caught up. You stood abruptly, crossing the space between you in two quick strides. But instead of simply following him, you reached out, placing your hand firmly over his on the door handle. Then, without hesitation, you pushed it open yourself, forcing him to step back, now standing just beside you.  

His brows knit together, lips curving into something both amused and perplexed.  

You stopped, inches from him, the back of your shoulder nearly brushing his chest. Then, tilting your head slightly, you looked up at him, your voice lower now, almost conspiratorial.  

"It was a wet dream."  

Then you walked out, not waiting for his reaction, not sparing him even a glance.  

Frankie stood frozen in place, mouth slightly open, as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. His hand remained on the door handle, grip slack, his gaze fixed on the empty hallway where you’d just disappeared.

Had he imagined it, or had you actually just told him that—No. No, you were messing with him. That was all.

It was simple. You wanted to get under his skin, to push him just enough that he’d slip up. You wanted to know what he and Will had talked about, and this was your strategy. It made sense, really. A calculated move. If you could make him uneasy, stoke his curiosity, you might get him to spill something. Let something slip. But Frankie wasn’t an idiot—he wasn’t going to fall for it.

At least now he understood what you were doing. And honestly? He didn’t mind. If this was how you wanted to play it, he could match you, step for step.

After a long moment—he wasn’t sure how many seconds had passed—he finally moved, stepping out of the room and heading downstairs. He could hear Mai’s voice, light and animated, drifting in from the living room. She was talking to you.

When he walked in, his sister looked up, her face brightening. She stood from her spot beside you and crossed the room to meet him, wrapping her arms around his torso in a warm hug.

“How are you?” she asked, patting his back with quick, affectionate taps.

“Good, good,” he murmured, catching your gaze for half a second over Mai’s shoulder. Then he pulled back, looking down at his sister with a small, affectionate smile. “You look cute, huh?”

“Thanks, you too,” she said, pinching his cheek between her fingers before letting go. Then, with a sly grin, she jabbed him lightly in the stomach. “Now, tell me—what were you doing upstairs with your girl, huh? You know the door should always stay open.”

Frankie snorted, shaking his head. Before he could answer, Helena appeared in the doorway, a bottle of wine balanced against her shoulder.

“Come on, dinner’s ready,” she announced with a smile.

Thirty minutes later, you were all seated around the dining table, the conversation ebbing and flowing around books and different editions of classics. It wasn’t a surprise, really. Frankie’s mom was a literature professor, you owned a bookstore, and you’d studied literature. Naturally, the discussion revolved mostly around the two of you. Frankie sat back, watching, listening, while Mai occasionally glanced at him with raised eyebrows and an amused little smirk.

“I’ll come by as soon as I can,” Helena was saying, raising her wine glass to her lips. “Promise you’ll save me a copy?”

You nodded. You were seated next to Frankie, but you’d barely acknowledged him all evening.

“Of course,” you said easily. “It’s a promise.”

The book in question was a limited edition of Madame Bovary—one of the best, reliable translations and beautifully restored prints.

“Thank you, darlin',” Helena said. “Although I still believe nothing compares to reading in the original language, don’t you think?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you agreed, setting your wine glass down on the tablecloth. “That’s why I took Italian lessons. I wanted to read The Divine Comedy .” You laughed, a light, melodic sound. Frankie’s eyes flicked to you, drawn there without thinking, but your attention remained on his mother. “And when I finally did, it was incredible. The words sound different—almost like music. It’s not the same in English. So much gets lost in translation.”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes,” Helena nodded enthusiastically. “I read it in Italian too! Such a stunning piece of work. Dante was something else.”

“I love it,” you said. “And the story with Beatrice is just—well, it’s fascinating. Or, I suppose, their non-story.”

Helena smiled at that, something fond in her expression.

Mai, looking between the two of you, arched an eyebrow. “What happened with Dante and Beatrice?” she asked, half-laughing at the intensity of the discussion.

“Oh, it’s terribly romantic,” Helena sighed, reaching for her daughter’s hand. “They met as children—very young. And by all accounts, Dante fell in love with her at first sight. But they never really spoke. Almost never interacted at all. He only ever saw her, passing by on the street.”

Mai frowned slightly. “That’s kind of—”

“Then,” Helena continued, “Beatrice married someone else. And she died young, at twenty-five. But Dante never forgot her. He wrote about her, again and again. And in The Divine Comedy, she becomes this celestial figure. A messenger in Hell, guiding him through Purgatory. And when he finally sees her again, it’s as if he’s nine years old, looking at her for the first time. And in Paradise, she goes to heaven—because that’s where she belongs. Like an angel.”

Mai blinked. “That’s...depressing.”

Helena sighed, shaking her head as if she’d heard this take before. Frankie let out a quiet chuckle, the sound barely audible over the clinking of silverware. You, sitting beside him, smiled in amusement but said nothing.

“What?” Mai demanded, raising her eyebrows. “She died. And anyway, how did he even know it was real? She married someone else, didn’t she? For a reason.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Helena said, her tone affectionate but certain, “we’re talking about centuries ago. Marriages weren’t exactly love matches. Most were arranged. I think Dante himself was engaged as a child.”

“That’s true,” you chimed in, setting your wine glass down. “Beatrice was married off at fifteen, and Dante was engaged by the time he was twelve. They saw each other once when they were kids, and then years later, they passed each other in the street. She greeted him—just a simple hello—and that same night, he dreamt of La Vita Nuova.” You paused, pressing your lips together for a moment, as if carefully recalling the details. “I think they might have crossed paths twice more after that, but by then, I think she was already married. Dante could never have done more than dream about her.”

Helena exhaled softly, her expression wistful. “It was an impossible love.”

Mai looked vaguely amused. “Even if it was unrequited?”

Helena nodded. “Unrequited, unrealized—it doesn’t matter. He loved and idealized her in his own way. She became his muse.”

Mai nodded, unconvinced. “I get it. Still, he kinda sounds like a creep.”

Helena exhaled sharply, already losing patience. Frankie had seen this a hundred times—the exasperation, the incredulous little shake of her head, the way her lips pursed before she spoke. It was fun.

“He never even went near her, Maia,” she said, waving a hand for emphasis. “It’s not like Dante was some kind of obsessed pervert, lurking around corners. He respected her. He didn’t follow her, didn’t bother her.”

“And how do you know that?” Mai pressed, her tone deliberately provocative.

Helena let out a dramatic sigh and gave her daughter a light smack on the hand.

“You do this on purpose!” she accused, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Then, suddenly, you spoke. “And what do you think?”

Frankie looked at you, caught off guard. “Me?”

“Yes. What do you think? About Dante and Beatrice.” You were looking at him, really looking at him, your gaze steady and expectant.

He blinked, the remnants of his earlier smile fading as he processed the question. From the other side of the table, Helena and Mai turned toward him, equally interested. It seemed they were curious too.

Frankie hesitated, eyes flickering from your face to some vague point behind your shoulder, as if the answer might be written there. Then, after a few seconds, he met your gaze again.

“I think…” He exhaled through his nose, thoughtful. “We’ve all been through it.”

There was a beat of silence, but his eyes stayed on yours, just a fraction too long.

Helena gasped, her expression scandalized. “Frankie!”

He turned toward her, confused. “What?”

“You can’t say that in front of your girlfriend!”

You and Mai burst into laughter at the same time.

Frankie frowned. “Say what?”

Helena gave him an exasperated look. “We’ve all been through it? Are you saying you have your own Beatrice out there somewhere?”

Frankie froze, mouth slightly open, eyebrows raised. For a second, he’d forgotten—forgotten that, in his mother’s mind, you were his girlfriend. Forgotten that he wasn’t just speaking to you, alone.

“Oh,” he said, almost under his breath. Then, clearing his throat, he added, “Right. She’s my Beatrice.”

Your eyes widened slightly, amusement flickering across your face as his gaze returned to you. A small, knowing smile started to unravel at the corners of your lips.

“But with a happy ending, right?” Frankie added, tilting his head ever so slightly, a smirk forming.

You lifted your chin, watching him with something that looked a lot like affection—but softer, more playful, something almost unspoken.

“Clever, huh?” You raised an eyebrow.

“That’s right, honey, don’t let him off the hook,” Mai teased, narrowing her eyes at her brother like she was onto something.

Frankie let out a dry laugh. “Shut up.”

Mai grinned, triumphant.

Then you tilted your head slightly, eyes flicking to Helena. “Now that I think about it… didn’t they say Dante might’ve had narcolepsy?”

Helena’s brows lifted in consideration.

“Oh, I’m not sure,” she admitted, tapping a finger lightly against her wine glass. “But I think some people speculate that would explain his blackouts and visions.”

“It would make a lot of sense,” you said, thoughtful. “So much of what he wrote about involved sleep, passing out… hallucinations.”

Helena nodded, already intrigued.

“That’s true, that’s true.” Her eyes brightened. “Now you’ve got me curious—I’ll have to look into that.”

You smiled, lifting your glass to your lips, taking a small sip before setting it down. Then you exhaled, something soft and fascinated in your expression.

“It’s amazing,” you murmured. “Dreams, dreams and all that.”

Frankie was looking at you.

He wasn’t sure why, but the way you said it—like you were half here, half somewhere else entirely—made his stomach turn over. The side of his mouth twitched, something close to a smirk, but his gaze was steady, fixed. Unrelenting.

And yet, you didn’t even glance at him. Your eyes stayed on Helena and Mai, following their conversation, nodding along as they spoke. Whatever pull you had on him, it was effortless. Completely unintentional.

He dragged his attention back to the table just as Mai started complaining about a recent freelance project—a website for some clothing brand—that had turned into a disaster when her laptop decided to die mid-edit.

Dinner, all things considered, was a success.

After the plates were cleared, Helena announced it was time for dessert and returned moments later with a chocolate and strawberry cake that looked unfairly good. She uncorked a bottle of late-harvest wine, grinning as she held it up. “Sauvignon Blanc, to elevate the chocolate.”

Frankie poured himself a glass, just one. He still had to drive, even if, at this point, with the way you were acting, he could’ve easily finished the entire bottle.

By the time the evening wound down, the warmth of summer had settled thick and golden over the front porch. The air clung to bare legs, and a gentle breeze ghosted over your neck, light and fleeting.

Helena pulled Frankie into a hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek, her palm lingering against his face for a moment. “Take care of yourself, yeah?” she said softly. “And pick up the damn phone every once in a while.”

Mai hugged him next, squeezing him tight before pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “And don’t be an idiot with avoidant attachment,” she added pointedly.

Frankie rolled his eyes, but there was affection in it.

With you, they were just as warm, maybe even more so. Helena hugged you like you were already part of the family, reminding you to come back soon. She patted your arm as she stepped back, eyes bright. “I’ll stop by the shop for my book, okay?,” she promised, “and I’ll buy you a coffee while I’m there.”

Frankie stood by, watching the exchange, resisting the sudden, inexplicable urge to cut in. To say you had to go. To say something.

But he didn’t.

Now, you were in the car.

As always, music poured from the speakers, filling the quiet space between you. It had a certain magic to it at this hour—the way the city lights blurred past the windows, the hush of the late-night streets, the familiar warmth of a song that somehow felt perfectly timed. Drive by The Cars.

Neither of you spoke as it played, the soft, melancholy synth weaving through the silence, until the lyrics seemed to catch both of your attention at once.

Who's gonna pay attention

to your dreams?

A small, knowing smile pulled at your lips. You turned your head, resting your chin against the palm of your hand, elbow propped on the door as you looked out at the city.

Beside you, Frankie let out a quiet huff of laughter, his gaze flicking toward you for a second too long. He could tell you thought it was funny too.

“C’mon.” His voice was low, edged with amusement. “Spit it out.”

You glanced at him, but his eyes were fixed ahead, steady on the road.

“What?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just nodded, as if confirming something to himself, then kept driving in silence until you rolled up to a red light.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he said then, finally looking at you. This time, fully.

You blinked at him. “What am I trying to do?”

His gaze was unreadable, the dim light from the dashboard catching on the sharp angle of his jaw.

“It’s obvious.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “A wet dream, you said?” His eyes flicked down your frame, slowly, then back to your face, his expression smug. “Wet. So you did wet the bed. I’ll take that as confirmation.”

You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head, crossing your arms over your chest as you looked at him. Amused, despite yourself. Trying to appear unimpressed but failing.

“I won’t tell you anything about it without a fair exchange, Francisco.”

“Yeah,” he said easily. “Not interested.”

“You don’t look that way.”

He scoffed, lifting a shoulder. “What do you mean? Look at me. I don’t care.”

You tilted your head, studying him.

“Is that why you went quiet at the table?”

Something flashed in his eyes, something quick and unreadable, before he turned his head back toward the road.

“Apparently, you’re more interested in my interest than I am, baby,” he murmured. His voice dipped just enough to make your stomach pull tight. Then, a small smirk. “Why’s that?”

His head tilted slightly, gaze lowering, and your eyes instinctively followed the movement.

You said nothing. Just faced forward again, and he did the same.  

When the light changed, Frankie pressed down on the gas, the car gliding forward into the quiet, empty streets. Neither of you spoke for the rest of the drive.  

You probably hadn’t even dreamed anything. You were probably just making it up to get under his skin. And he didn’t care.  

Right?  

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to ask. Wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction.  

So he kept his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel, and let the silence settle between you.  

By the time he pulled up in front of your house, he just turned the car off without thinking, like some part of him knew he wasn’t leaving just yet.  

Neither of you moved.  

The car sat still, parked beneath the dull glow of the streetlamp, filling with the kind of silence that wasn’t entirely comfortable, but wasn’t tense either. 

You sat with your hands in your lap, absently twisting your fingers together, and Frankie leaned against the driver’s side door, resting his head in his palm, his elbow propped up. His gaze flickered out the window, scanning the empty sidewalk, but every few seconds, his eyes found their way back to you.  

Then, as if remembering something, he straightened.  

“So,” he said, voice cutting through the quiet, and you turned toward him. “About skydiving—there’s a place about an hour from here that’s really good. An old friend of mine works there, said they’ve got some spots open this month.”  

Your lips parted slightly, a quick inhale.  

“Really?” A smile was already tugging at the corners of your mouth. “When?”  

“As soon as you want, I hope.”  

“This weekend?” you asked, eyes lighting up. “Do they work weekends?”  

Frankie chuckled at your enthusiasm, shaking his head.

“Yeah, of course they do. You wanna go this weekend?”  

“Are you kidding?” You turned in your seat fully now, excitement buzzing in your voice. “Of course!”  

He laughed at that, his own grin slipping easily into place.

“Alright, done. I’ll book it early tomorrow.” He reached for his phone, unlocking it with one hand. “I can send you the website if you wanna check it out.”  

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah, definitely. God, that’s crazy.” You exhaled, leaning back into your seat, eyes still shining.  

“I think you’re gonna love it.”  

“You think so?”  

“I’m sure,” he said, glancing down at his screen as he tapped something in. A second later, your phone buzzed.  

You picked it up, lips pressing together as you bit back a smile.  

“Yeah,” you murmured. “So am I.”  

Then your brow furrowed slightly. “How much is the jump?”  

“Don’t worry about it.”  

Your head snapped toward him. “Why?”  

Frankie just waved a hand, already setting his phone back down.  

“Hey, no,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m sure it’s not cheap. Just tell me and—”  

“No, no.” His voice was firm, his eyes locking onto yours, dark and steady. “Don’t even think about it.”  

Your mouth opened slightly, but he cut you off before you could protest.  

“Consider it my conciliation gift.”  

You stared at him for a second, watching the way he sat there, relaxed, like it was settled. Like you couldn’t argue even if you wanted to.  

Your fingers tightened slightly around your phone.  

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head again, but softer this time. Less like you were disagreeing. More like you didn’t know what to do with him.  

Frankie just smirked.

Silence settled again, but this time, it didn’t feel charged. Just easy.   

Frankie could tell you were thinking about something. He recognized the way your gaze lingered outside the window, the way your fingers lightly traced over the hem of your skirt, absentminded, like whatever was on your mind had wrapped itself around you completely.   

And you weren’t in a hurry to leave the car.   

He hesitated, debating whether to ask. Then, before he could overthink it, he did.  

“You okay?” His voice was quiet, careful. He reminded himself to tread lightly, to not push too much, to not ask something that might put you off. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.  

You didn’t answer right away. Just exhaled, slow and measured, before speaking.  

“Harry’s wedding is on friday.”    

Right. The wedding. He’d forgotten. But you hadn’t.   

From the tone of your voice, it didn’t sound like it hurt the way it used to, like the wound had at least stopped bleeding. But you still cared.  

“Oh,” he said, dragging a hand over his mouth. He wasn’t sure how to phrase his next words, wasn’t sure what was the right thing to ask. “And how do you feel about that?”  

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, almost like you found his question funny, and turned to look at him with something warm in your eyes.   

“Please don’t do that.”  

Frankie frowned slightly. “Do what?”  

“Tiptoe around me.” You tilted your head, giving him a look, affectionate but teasing. “I know our fight was... ugly. But you don’t have to treat me like I might break. I’m okay, really.”  

He sighed through his nose, shifting in his seat. “I just don’t wanna sound nosy. Or ask something I shouldn’t.”  

“I know.” You nodded, your voice softer now. “And I appreciate that. But I promise you can ask me about this.”  

Frankie watched you for a second before nodding back.  

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, bracing himself before speaking again.  

“Do you wanna go?”  

You didn’t answer immediately. Your fingers tapped lightly against your chin, your eyes unfocused, staring ahead like you were untangling something in your mind.  

Then, finally, you let out a small breath.  

“I feel a little silly,” you admitted. “But I think I do.”  

Frankie leaned back against his seat, brow furrowing slightly.  

“Why?”

“I know you’re right.”  

Your voice was steady, but something in your expression wavered as you turned to look at him. The dim streetlight outside cast a soft glow across your face, catching the shine in your eyes, making them look almost luminous in the quiet darkness of the car.  

“There’s no real reason to go,” you admitted. “No logical one, at least. It’d be... masochistic, probably. But at the same time, I feel like I need to bury all of this. Just see it. See it with my own eyes. Put a bow on it and give it away, let it go. You know?”  

Frankie didn’t say anything, just listened, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel.  

“I think I’m close to that,” you continued, more to yourself than to him. “I wasn’t before. I wasn’t that night, when we argued, but after that... I don’t know. I think fighting with you even forced me to face it.” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, almost amused. “Because I realized I was still hurting over something that didn’t make sense. I mean, yeah, it was painful, but that’s it.”  

Frankie shifted slightly, glancing at you. “Don’t take what I said that night too seriously. I was—” He paused, searching for the right word. “Rude.”  

“Maybe,” you acknowledged. “But you weren’t wrong about some things.”  

For a moment, there was nothing but the distant hum of passing cars. You exhaled, more certain now.  

“I wanna go,” you said simply. “Put this behind me once and for all. See it with my own eyes.” You pressed your palms against your thighs, as if grounding yourself in the decision.  

Frankie nodded, like it was that simple. “Okay. If you want to go, let’s go.”  

You turned to him, frowning slightly. “You don’t have to come with me, though.”  

“What do you mean?” He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want me to?”  

“No, it’s not that.” You shook your head quickly. “I just mean—I’m already dragging you into this skydiving thing, and everything else on my list. I don’t want to take up your whole weekend.”  

“I don't mind.” The words came easy, deep and certain, like he didn’t even have to think about them.  

You studied him for a beat, like you were searching for a lie, for some sign that he was just saying it to be nice.  

Then, as if trying to call his bluff, you said, “Surely you have other things to do. Hasn’t Santi texted you? He bought a new grill. He sent me a pic.”

Frankie smothered a laugh, shaking his head.

“I don’t mind going with you. I mean it.” His voice was even, assured, like there was no room for argument. “Besides, we made a deal, didn’t we? And if I remember correctly, I told you—I don’t break my promises.”  

“Yes, you did.” Your voice was light, but there was something behind it, something teasing. The kind of softness that made him want to keep talking just to hear it again. Your eyes lingered on his face, studying him like you were trying to memorize something.  

Frankie shifted slightly, leaning in just a little.

“And anyway,” he added, his voice dropping an octave, “I know you’re going to look incredible in whatever dress you wear. I’d be an idiot to miss that.”  

Your lips curved, the smile slow and knowing, your eyes locked on his. Neither of you moved, caught in something suspended. 

Frankie could feel the weight of it settle between you, something warm, something he shouldn’t want but did anyway. He couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to.  

“What time?” he asked, voice quieter now.  

“The wedding starts at five. At the Marriott.”  

“I’ll pick you up at four-thirty.”  

“Okay.”  

“Perfect.”  

“I’ll be waiting.”  

“I know.”  

You held his gaze, the air between you thick and charged, like the last moment before a storm breaks. Then, just as he thought you might say something else, you reached for your seatbelt, unfastening it with an easy click. But instead of moving away, you leaned in first, just enough for him to catch the faintest hint of your perfume, just enough for his breath to catch.  

And then your lips were on his cheek, warm and soft, gone too soon.  

Frankie exhaled, gripping the steering wheel like it might keep him grounded.  

You pulled back without hesitation, opening the door and stepping out. The night swallowed you in one smooth movement, but before you turned to leave, you dipped down, peeking through the open window.  

“Goodnight, Dante.” Your head tilted, the corners of your lips still curved, your eyes bright beneath the streetlights.  

Frankie let out a breath of laughter, shaking his head. “Goodnight, Beatrice.”  

You didn’t linger. Just turned and walked toward your door, your steps unhurried, your silhouette framed by the dim porch light.  

Frankie watched you the entire time.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @jokesonthem @brittmb115 @sukivenue @awkwardmebaby @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @suzysface @picketniffler @gaypoetsblog @merz-8 @doblasftcisco @ultra-nina-bella

[bueckersleftbraid]

”— Not For Real

WC: just abt 4.0k (trust it’s good even tho it’s short)

paring: pazzi ofc 🤗

warnings: ummm fluff, fake dating, rom com ass moments, paige lowkey being stupid

authors notes —> hi!! here is this. I sort of love it so I hope you do too! I wrote this quick so my apologies for how short it is but it’s very cutesy

THE PITCH

The coffee shop was nearly empty except for a few students buried in their laptops and an older couple sharing a newspaper by the window. Paige slid into the booth, her cheeks still pink from the cold outside, a takeout cup in one hand and skepticism written all over her face.

Azzi was already there, lounging like she owned the place, one leg crossed over the other and an unread book open in front of her like a decoy. Her sunglasses were perched unnecessarily on top of her head, her dark curls pulled back in a loose bun. She didn’t look frantic or upset — not the way her text had sounded— “Emergency. Meet me at Haven. Bring caffeine.”

“Alright,” Paige said, plunking her drink down. “I came. I caffeinated. What’s the ‘emergency’?”

Azzi gave her a look, one brow quirked, the corners of her mouth twitching like she was holding back a grin. Paige didn’t trust that expression. Azzi was rarely panicked. Calculated? Yes. Hyper-competitive? Definitely. But desperate?

Something was up.

“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.”

Paige blinked. “You—what?”

Azzi didn’t flinch. “Just for a few weeks.”

Paige sat back, stunned. “This is a joke.”

“I’m completely serious.”

There was a silence between them, the kind that stretched and pulled like taffy. Paige stared, trying to figure out if Azzi had finally lost it.

Azzi’s tone was matter-of-fact. “My sister’s wedding is in three weeks. My parents are hosting half the extended family. And last year—because I was being cornered by four aunties asking why I was single—I might’ve said I was dating someone. Someone serious.”

“Oh my God.”

“I didn’t say it was you,” Azzi added quickly. “But now they want to meet her. And I panicked. And I may have shown them a photo from our joint charity game last summer. You looked good.”

“You—what?”

“I didn’t think they’d remember! But now they’re asking if you’re coming. And since I hate lying—”

“You’re literally lying right now,” Paige interrupted.

“—I figured it’s less lying if it’s you,” Azzi said, flashing a smile that could only be described as weaponized charm.

Paige stared at her like she’d grown another head.

She and Azzi had never been friends, not exactly. Their relationship existed in a gray area between reluctant allies and rivals. They knew each other’s weak spots. They pushed each other during games, sparred during interviews, and occasionally made nice at league events. There had always been tension there — a kind that hovered just on the edge of something else.

But this?

“Why me?” Paige asked finally.

Azzi didn’t answer immediately. She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. Her expression turned serious — sincere in a way that Paige rarely saw from her.

“Because you can handle it,” she said. “My family can be… intense. They’ll ask questions. They’ll pry. I need someone who’s smart, quick, and can improvise. You’re the only person I trust not to crack.”

Paige felt a strange flicker of pride at that, which she quickly smothered. She hated how Azzi’s approval always stirred something in her.

“I don’t know,” Paige said, eyeing her warily. “What’s in it for me?”

Azzi smiled, like she’d been expecting that.

“I’ll owe you. Big time. I’ll even owe you publicly, if you want. You name the favor. I’ll make it happen.”

Paige took a slow sip of her latte, weighing her options. She could walk away. Tell Azzi she was out of her mind and let her deal with the fallout.

But instead, she said, “I want your warm-up playlist.”

Azzi went still.

“…You’re not serious.”

“I am deadly serious,” Paige replied. “The one you play with the wireless earbuds. The one you turn off the second someone gets too close. You give me that playlist, and I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Azzi looked betrayed. “That’s like—sacred. That’s mine.”

Paige smirked. “Then maybe you should’ve asked someone else to fake date you.”

Azzi muttered something under her breath and stared down at her coffee like it had betrayed her too. Then she sighed, reached into her bag, and pulled out her phone.

She scrolled, tapped, and then held it out. “You’re the worst.”

“I try,” Paige said, gleefully accepting the transfer.

There was a strange beat of silence after that, as if both of them realized this was no longer hypothetical. Azzi sat back, a little too calm again.

“So,” Paige said cautiously, “how exactly does this work?”

Azzi raised a brow. “We ease into it. Coffee shops, casual photos, a couple of public run-ins. We soft-launch the relationship by next weekend. Then the wedding. A few smiling family photos. Some lingering looks. Maybe even a dance. Two weeks after that, we stage a quiet breakup. Friendly. Mutual. Devastatingly mature.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “You’ve thought this through.”

Azzi gave her a crooked grin. “You have no idea.”

THE ACT

Fake dating, Paige quickly realized, required a surprising amount of coordination.

There were rules, schedules, contingencies. Texts needed timestamps. Stories had to match. They spent an entire afternoon building a believable relationship history — from their “first coffee after a preseason scrimmage” to their “accidental slow dance at a teammate’s birthday party.” Paige had never spent so much time with Azzi without the sound of sneakers squeaking on hardwood in the background.

And somehow, being around her without the structure of basketball— just sitting close on a couch, laptops open, occasionally stealing each other’s fries— felt more intimate than anything else they’d ever done.

It was during brunch on the first Saturday of the plan that things started to feel…off.

Not bad off. Just different.

Their table was tucked into the corner of a sunlit café that Paige didn’t usually frequent— the kind of place with overpriced avocado toast and artisanal jam in tiny glass jars. She kept checking the window, half-expecting someone to recognize them.

Azzi, meanwhile, looked utterly unbothered. 

She was dressed in a soft brown sweater that brought out the warm undertones in her skin, her hair loose for once, curls brushing her shoulders. She’d insisted on sitting next to Paige instead of across from her — “Couples sit side-by-side. Optics.” — and now, her knee kept brushing Paige’s beneath the table like it was nothing.

It was not nothing.

Paige was hyper-aware of every point of contact: the press of Azzi’s shoulder, the occasional light touch on her wrist when Azzi laughed at something she said. And then there was the moment— the one Paige didn’t know how to explain— when Azzi reached across the table and gently, casually, brushed a crumb from the corner of her mouth.

“Missed a spot,” she said, voice low, like it was just for her.

Paige stared, momentarily frozen. She barely managed a sarcastic “Thanks, Mom,” just to defuse the tension in her own chest.

Azzi only smirked.

Then— in full view of the table across from them— she reached down and laced her fingers through Paige’s.

Paige’s pulse jumped.

“What are you doing?” she hissed under her breath.

Azzi tilted her head. “Handholding. Basic public display. You want this to be convincing, right?”

“This is—” Paige trailed off, unable to find a word that didn’t sound like denial. Her fingers stayed tangled in Azzi’s for a beat longer than necessary before she forced herself to look away.

Convincing. Right. This was just for show.

But it felt like something else.

____

Later that evening, they found themselves scrolling through Instagram together on Azzi’s couch, reviewing what Azzi referred to as “launch content.” It had been Paige’s idea to soft-launch their relationship through stories and casual posts — enough to stir curiosity without a hard announcement. “Let the public fill in the blanks,” she’d said. “It’ll feel more real if people think they caught it happening.”

Azzi had been disturbingly into that idea.

“Okay,” Paige said, reviewing a photo Azzi had taken earlier — the two of them walking away from the café, arms looped together. It was slightly blurry, clearly taken from behind. “This one looks stolen. Paparazzi vibe.”

“Good,” Azzi said. “Tag it or leave it?”

Paige sighed. “Leave it. Keep them guessing.”

Azzi grinned, but her voice was quieter when she added, “You’re good at this.”

Paige didn’t look up. “At lying to the world?”

“At making it believable,” Azzi said. “Too believable, maybe.”

There was a silence between them.

Paige felt it stretch again — like the space between words you want to say but don’t know how to. The room was warm, too warm, and she suddenly became very aware of the fact that they were sitting closer than strictly necessary.

She risked a glance over.

Azzi was already looking at her.

Paige swallowed hard. “You’re kind of good at this, too.”

Azzi arched a brow. “Kind of?”

Paige shook her head, eyes flicking away.“Unfairly good.”

A smirk tugged at Azzi’s lips, but she didn’t press. Instead, she nudged Paige’s knee lightly with her own. “Don’t overthink it, Bueckers. Just follow my lead.”

That sentence echoed in Paige’s head for the rest of the night.

____

The first real test came the following weekend— a casual dinner with some of Azzi’s extended family visiting early for the wedding.

Paige had told herself she was prepared. She’d practiced their story, remembered names, even rehearsed a few go-to anecdotes. But nothing prepared her for the way Azzi introduced her:

“This is Paige,” Azzi had said, voice softening at the edges. “She’s the one I’ve been telling you about.”

It shouldn’t have hit Paige in the chest the way it did. But the pride in Azzi’s voice, the way she slipped an arm around her waist like it was second nature, it all felt too natural.

Too easy.

“You’re even prettier in person,” Azzi’s aunt said with a warm smile, making Paige blush hard enough to want to hide under the table.

“She is, isn’t she?” Azzi replied, grinning, and Paige gave her a warning glance that Azzi absolutely ignored.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of polite conversation, wine, and shared glances that lingered a little too long. At one point, someone brought up future plans — careers, cities, and timelines — and Paige heard herself say something about “we’re figuring things out,” and Azzi didn’t correct her.

She just nodded. Like it was true.

Like it could be.

That night, after the guests had gone and they were back on the couch, Paige kicked off her heels and flopped backward with a groan. “I deserve an Oscar.”

Azzi collapsed next to her, eyes half-lidded from wine and exhaustion. “They love you already.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“You were perfect,” Azzi said quietly, not teasing for once. “Natural.”

Paige turned her head to look at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “Sometimes I forget we’re faking it.”

Paige’s breath caught.

For a moment, the room felt too still. The words hung between them like something fragile — something dangerous.

“Don’t,” Paige said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t what?” Azzi asked.

“Don’t say stuff like that unless you mean it.”

Azzi looked at her. Really looked. Then — just as softly — said, “Maybe I do.”

Paige didn’t answer.

She didn’t move.

She just let the words sit there, tucked between them on the couch, daring her to pick a side.

THE SHIFT

Paige had faced playoff pressure before. She’d stood at the free throw line with a championship on the line, heard arenas scream her name, stared down defenders with everything at stake.

And still, nothing made her feel quite as unsteady as walking into Azzi’s childhood home.

The place was beautiful — all warm wood and framed memories, the scent of something sweet in the air — but it wasn’t the house itself that threw her.

It was the fact that everyone knew who she was.

“Oh my god, the girlfriend!”

“You’re even cuter than the photos!”

“I heard she plays just as well as Azzi — is that true?”

“Do you want to see baby pictures?!”

Azzi watched it all unfold with thinly veiled amusement, her arm a steady presence at Paige’s back. She was too calm. Too smooth. Like she’d always known Paige would say yes. Like she’d planned for this exact moment.

Paige leaned toward her as soon as they had a sliver of privacy in the hallway. “Your family’s intense.”

“I warned you,” Azzi said with a smirk, then added, “You’re handling it like a pro.”

“I’m dying inside.”

Azzi bumped her shoulder. “You look great while doing it.”

The rehearsal dinner was the first real blow.

Paige had worn a soft cream dress that Azzi couldn’t seem to stop staring at — not that she ever said anything outright, just a glance too long when Paige wasn’t looking, or a compliment murmured so low it felt like a secret.

They sat together at the head table, posing for casual couple photos, telling rehearsed stories about “how we met” and “our first date,” laughing too easily, leaning in like magnets.

But it was during the toasts— when the groom’s brother started talking about soulmates— that Paige glanced over and caught Azzi watching her.

Not with amusement. Not with performance.

But with something soft. Bare. Real.

It was the kind of look no one gives unless they mean it.

Paige looked away, heart thudding in her chest, guilt bubbling like carbonation in her ribs. This was fake. This was supposed to stay fake.

But suddenly, she didn’t know if Azzi had ever drawn the line. And worse — she didn’t know if she had either.

____

That night, in the guest room down the hall, Paige lay in bed staring at the ceiling, her mind racing.

She thought of how Azzi had casually brushed her hair over her shoulder earlier. Of the way she’d poured her wine without asking. Of how she’d reached for Paige’s hand in the dark when no one was watching.

This was the most dangerous part of the lie: the moments that didn’t serve the story. The things that weren’t for anyone else.

And then came the knock.

Soft. Hesitant.

She sat up. “Yeah?”

Azzi peeked through the door. She wasn’t in her dress anymore— just a pair of shorts and an old tee, her curls pulled back loosely, her expression unreadable. “You decent?”

“Depends on your definition,” Paige said, forcing a weak smile.

Azzi stepped in and leaned against the doorframe. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Paige watched her carefully. “Me either.”

There was a long pause.

Azzi broke it, quietly. “Can I tell you something?”

Paige nodded.

“I didn’t think this would get to me.” Azzi looked down, fiddling with a ring on her finger. “It was supposed to be simple. Clean. Controlled.”

“But it’s not.”

“No,” Azzi said. “It’s not.”

Paige felt her heart tug, just a little. “You’re not the only one.”

Azzi looked up at that— eyes locking onto hers, something raw flickering behind them. “When I look at you, Paige…” She stopped. Swallowed. “I forget we’re faking it.”

Paige didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

She just sat there, frozen, every nerve in her body firing at once.

Azzi crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, close enough that Paige could see the tension in her shoulders. “You can tell me to stop. You can tell me it’s just a role. But I need you to know I’m not pretending anymore.”

Silence.

A long one.

Then, quietly— like a truth Paige had been holding in for days— she said, “I don’t want to pretend either.”

Azzi’s eyes searched hers. “You mean that?”

Paige nodded, voice shaking. “Yeah. I do.”

____

The next day was chaos. Wedding prep. Final fittings. Tears and champagne and frantic flower girls. But somehow, through it all, Paige and Azzi found pockets of stillness.

A touch on the back as they passed each other.

A whispered joke during a photo session.

A look— held too long— when no one else was looking.

By the time the dance floor opened and Azzi reached for her hand, Paige didn’t hesitate.

They danced slow. Intimate. Their arms wrapped around each other like second nature.

“Everyone’s watching,” Paige murmured, her cheek brushing Azzi’s.

Azzi’s hand tightened at her waist. “Let them.”

“I feel like we’re supposed to kiss or something.”

Azzi paused. “Do you want to?”

Paige pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Not because we’re supposed to. Only if it’s real.”

Azzi looked at her like she’d already made that choice.

And then, quietly, deliberately— she kissed her.

Soft at first. Like a question. Then with more certainty, like she already knew the answer.

When they pulled apart, Paige didn’t look away.

“This wasn’t part of the plan,” she whispered.

Azzi smiled. “Good.”

____

The kiss didn’t shatter anything.

It settled something. Quiet and unforced, it slipped between them like a puzzle piece finally falling into place. Not a performance, not a statement— just Paige and Azzi, wrapped in music and low light, eyes closed to the world and open only to each other.

And then, slowly, the moment passed.

They pulled apart, breath brushing between them, eyes locked. Paige blinked first.

Someone behind them cheered— not for them, for the newlyweds— and the real world came rushing back.

But nothing about them felt fake anymore.

They didn’t talk about the kiss right away.

Paige needed space to think. She slipped away from the reception after midnight, half-drunk on champagne and adrenaline, and found herself sitting on the venue’s back steps, heels dangling from her hand.

She was running her thumb over the lip of a glass when Azzi found her.

“You always disappear after the good parts,” Azzi said, voice soft as she stepped into the night.

Paige didn’t look over. “Wasn’t sure if it was a good part.”

Azzi sat beside her. Close, but not touching. “It was for me.”

That quiet admission settled in Paige’s chest like warmth in cold hands.

She exhaled. “I don’t know where the line is anymore.”

Azzi didn’t speak for a moment. Then, “I think it’s gone.”

Paige finally turned to look at her.

Azzi’s hair was wind-tousled, cheeks flushed from dancing. Her eyes, though, were steady. “This stopped being fake a while ago. We just didn’t want to be the first to say it.”

Paige bit her lip. “And now?”

“Now I want to know what it looks like when it’s not a performance.”

There was no crowd to play to here. No family. No cameras. Just moonlight, soft music from inside, and two people trying to find their footing.

“I’m scared it’s not different enough,” Paige admitted. “That it’ll feel the same, and somehow that’ll make it less real.”

Azzi reached for her hand. “Then we make it different.”

“How?”

“Let’s start with this.” Azzi’s voice was calm but certain. “Tomorrow— no stories. No setups. We go on a real date. Just you and me.”

“No pretending?”

“No pretending.”

Paige nodded slowly, almost like a dare to herself. “Okay.”

Azzi smiled. “Okay.”

____

They danced again before the night ended.

Not for show, not for pictures. Just the two of them, alone near the edge of the floor, slow-swaying to a song no one else was paying attention to. Azzi’s arms were loose around her waist, and Paige let her forehead rest against Azzi’s collarbone.

No eyes on them.

No script.

No lie.

Just a beginning — unspoken, but undeniably real.

THE RAIN

The wedding glow didn’t last.

Maybe it was the travel. Or the shift back to real life. Or the fact that what had started as a joke— a fake relationship to get through a weekend— had suddenly become something far too delicate to joke about.

Whatever it was, by the time they were back home, something between them had changed.

Paige pulled away first.

Not in a dramatic, obvious way. It was subtle— fewer texts, fewer “just because” calls, excuses about being tired, busy, overwhelmed. She showed up late to dinner one night and didn’t lean in when Azzi brushed her hand.

Azzi noticed every beat of it. Every flinch. Every pause.

But she didn’t push.

Not yet.

____

“You good?” Azzi asked one night, when they were sitting side by side on Paige’s couch, a game on the TV, untouched.

Paige didn’t look over. “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

Paige let out a short breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“With me?”

“With any of this.”

Azzi paused. “You want out?”

“No. Yes.” Paige rubbed her face, eyes burning. “I don’t know.”

Azzi didn’t say anything.

Because what could she say, when Paige was already slipping through her fingers?

____

The next few days were worse.

Paige stopped answering. Not just texts — calls, too. She skipped their usual Sunday shootaround. She didn’t invite Azzi to the fundraiser dinner they’d planned to go to together. She didn’t say anything was wrong.

She just stopped showing up.

____

It was raining when Azzi finally found her.

Not a soft drizzle— a downpour, the kind that soaked through clothes in seconds, that made the whole world feel like it was breaking open.

Azzi didn’t care.

She stood outside Paige’s building, coat already heavy with rain, hair clinging to her face, and poundedon the buzzer until someone let her in.

She didn’t call first.

She didn’t text.

She just knocked on Paige’s door, hard, until it opened.

Paige stared at her, stunned. She was barefoot in a hoodie, face pale and tired, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything.

Azzi didn’t wait.

“You don’t get to ghost me,” she said, soaked and furious. “Not after all of that.”

Paige swallowed. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“No. You were. And I let you. Because I thought maybe you needed space, but now I’m standing here in a storm, and I’m not leaving until you say whatever it is you’re afraid to say.”

Paige’s voice cracked. “This isn’t going to work.”

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“This thing. Us.” Paige stepped back like she couldn’t bear her own words. “It was supposed to be fake. We were never meant to be real. It’s too much. It’s too fast. And I’m going to mess it up.”

Azzi took a step inside. “You’re not messing it up. You’re running from it.”

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“Yes, you do. You’re just scared.”

Paige’s eyes welled up, but she held her ground. “I’ve never had anything like this before, Azzi. Not with anyone. I don’t know what it looks like to let it be real.”

Azzi stood there, soaked to the skin, heart wide open. “You want to know what it looks like?”

Paige didn’t answer.

Azzi closed the space between them. “It looks like me, right now, standing here completely drenched, because I love you so much I couldn’t not come. It looks like two people terrified out of their minds choosing each other anyway.”

Paige froze.

Azzi’s voice dropped. “I love you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then Paige stepped forward— one shaky, breathless step— and kissed her.

Hard. Desperate. Like a dam breaking.

And in the middle of it, she whispered, “I love you too.”

____

Later, they lay tangled on the couch, wrapped in towels and each other, the storm still whispering against the windows.

Neither of them spoke for a while. There was nothing to explain.

Because for the first time, nothing was pretend.

And neither of them was running.

[mimikittysblog]

The Princess

Pairing: Mafia! Husbands! Poly! Ateez x Fem! Wife! Reader

Genre: Angst, a good chunck of fluff, a HINT of smut (no actual sex scenes of the sorts but they’re quite sexual towards each other)

Synopsis: If ATZ were asked what their prized possession is, they wouldn’t say what you think. It isn’t the money, the cars, the jewels, the priceless paintings or anything of the sorts. As cheesy and unexpected as it sounds, they would answer each other. Now while on surface that is true, the reality of it is their most prized possession, their true treasure, the one they don’t even dare let people know they have in true fear of it getting taken away, is you. Their Princess. So what would happen when one night, you don’t come home?

Warnings: Kidnapping, major violence, implied sexual activity, death/murder (not of the major characters), alcohol consumption, Arson, MxM of course. So because of all of this please ⚠️MNDI⚠️ if I missed anything please let me know!

Word count: 5.3k words

A/N: It’s finally here!!! My goodness you guys loved that teaser 😭 I’m so grateful for all your enthusiasm! I hope this fic lives up to your expectations!! Happy reading!! Please tell me what you think! Likes, replies and reblogs are so appreciated!

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

On one side of the outskirts of town, there is this mansion belonging to a very interesting group of people. As of this moment throughout the gargantuan mansion, the sounds of fast paced footsteps can be heard. While loud or fast paced footsteps like these weren’t necessarily uncommon.

However somehow everyone who heard them deep down knew, something was wrong.

Suddenly said footsteps came to a stop as the sound of the door to the meeting room was opened.

Then the dreaded question was asked.

“My loves, have any of you seen or heard from Princess?”

Silence.

Just like that it became nothing but silence as all discussions of work seems to halt after hearing Yeosangs question.

“Is.. she not home yet?” Seonghwa asked softly.

“Well.. I can’t find her anywhere and she’s not answering her phone…”

“What?!” Wooyoung exclaimed as he quickly pulled out his phone and called her number.

Yunho took a glance to the clock on the wall and saw how late it was.

“It’s past her curfew. She knows she’s supposed to be home by now.”

“Forget that! She knows to always answer us. And she’s literally not answering us!” Wooyoung groans after the call goes unanswered.

“She’s just supposed to go shopping again!” Jongho exclaims.

The rest of the men in the room were silent. Frozen in fear and contemplation of what happened to you and where could you possibly be.

Suddenly they hear the front door open.

Believing its you, they wasted no time and quickly rushed down. However what they find are only your body guards, bloodied and bruised.

You?

Nowhere in sight.

At the sight of their bosses, your guards quickly got on their hands and knees. A position that screams begging for forgiveness.

“S-sirs! We’re sorry! So terribly sorry!! One second we were watching over her then the next we go-“

BANG

Hongjoong had no need for useless explanations or excuses.

His Princess was taken.

All he needs now is her back.

Mingi takes the gun from Hongjoongs hand and steps forward.

He kneels in front of one of the other guards and grabs him by the hair, positioning the gun under his chin.

“Where?”

“D-downtown! The alley near her favorite Chanel store!”

BANG

Jongho then takes the gun and aims it at the last guard.

“SIR! Please no forgive me!! I will find her! I will-“

BANG

Protecting you and making sure you come home safe was these guards only job. And yet they have failed.

Now they’ve lost you and to them there is no greater sin.

As Yunho is cleaning the blood off of Mingi’s face, Seonghwa turns to the maids and the henchmen stationed in the room. Clearly terrified as they’ve never seen their bosses so angry.

“Clean this up. We want this place spotless. Not a single trace of these sinners left behind. And get everyone to work. Find her. Check every corner. Turn every stone. Use any informant we have. Use any methods you can think of. Do what you must! And Find. Her. Now.”

With that they scrambled and quickly got to work.

Your husbands then left the room. Rage and determination emanating from their very being.

They will find you.

And those that took you will pay.

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

At another mansion on the other side of town, much smaller than the one he calls home, San is residing. He's currently on an undercover mission to get information they need to get rid of this nuisance of a mafia.

This other group wasn’t really a threat. No one was. However they’ve been getting on their nerves for far too long. So they intended to just wipe them out for their own comfort. Silently, quickly and deadly. Like they always do. Furthermore it’ll maybe also send a message to other groups to not pull the same stunts.

So once they got wind of how the head of the mafia likes collecting and having ‘toys' around no matter the gender they knew one of them had to play the part.

After careful consideration and discussion they agreed upon San.

No one was entirely happy with the idea. They hated the thought that San had to flaunt what was theirs and let another man touch him, possibly even kiss him.

However they knew their options to make this quick were very limited.

They all drew the line that San cannot sleep with him though. Not like San ever wanted to anyway. He would rather die before betraying his loves like that.

Thankfully San knew how to play his part well, where he was fun enough to keep around even if he had yet to sleep with the man. Plus he's too pretty of an eye candy to be let go anyway.

However he still needed to get this information quick, cause he knew he couldn't play celibate forever. The man will eventually want to force him to sleep with him.

So he needed to get out of there before that happens.

Currently San is in the living room in nothing but a fur coat and his boxers, as how the man requests all his toys to dress, with said man and the rest of his toys.

He's just drinking his whiskey as the man plays, wishing he was back home.

When suddenly the door was slammed opened and a girl was thrown to the ground.

"Sir, we've retrieved what you've asked for!"

One of the henchmen announced loudly.

San acted uninterested and nonchalant as he usually does until he glanced at and unfortunately recognized the poor girl on the ground.

..Princess..?

Why were you here??

How were you here???

You’re supposed to be safe at home with the rest!

“Ah yes. So this is ATZ’s precious treasure.” The man said with a shit eating grin causing the diamonds in his teeth to shine in the light.

He then got up and made his way to kneel in front of you. The man then grabbed your chin to make you look at him.

San almost lost it.

How dare his filthy hands touch his Princess?! So roughly at that.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Let go of me you piece of shit.” You growled at him.

“Ah ah.. is this the way you talk to the only one that can spare yo- UGH! Fucking bitch!”

Before he even finished his sentence you spat straight into his face.

In retaliation he gave you a hard slap, knocking you down.

There your eyes met San.

While to an outsider San seemed unbothered, you knew your husband. He was beyond mad. So mad that the devil himself wouldn’t dream of messing with him.

You, of course, knew of his mission. So you understood why he had to just sit there and act like he didn’t know you.

You weren’t even upset.

You missed him too much. It was such a sight to see him again.

Especially in the outfit he’s in.

So you only give him the tiniest comforting smile. Letting him know that you’re okay.

“Lock her up. ATZ will come and find her soon. They’ll make the deal to get her back. And soon I’ll be the most powerful.”

As you were being dragged away, your eyes only lingered on San.

San could only take another sip of his whiskey, with only one thought in his head.

Oh how wrong this man was.

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

“What do you mean you have no leads?!?” Mingi barked at the henchmen who gave him the update. Or lack there of.

“I’m sorry sir.. we’re still look-“

CRACK

“We don’t need your useless apologies. Get out there and FIND OUR WIFE. NOW!” Mingi didn’t even let him finish before hurling a heavy desk ornament straight towards his head and yelling at him again.

Bleeding from the head but grateful it wasn’t from a bullet hole, the henchmen hurriedly staggered over to give Mingi, Yeosang, and Wooyoung each a kiss on their rings that dawn their middle finger. Once the obligatory task of showing respect was done he left the room to continue searching for the lady of the household.

The room fell silent again as Mingi walks over to the big portrait of his husbands and you right in the middle. Smiling so wide and beautifully. He’d do anything to make sure that smile stays forever on your face and for him to always see it.

All of them would.

You’ve only been missing for less than 24 hours yet that’s longer than any of you have been apart these past few years without reason. Along with the fact that they knew you were taken forcibly, unease would be an understatement to describe what Mingi and the rest of them are feeling.

Then after a sigh, Wooyoung reached over and rung a bell that was on the desk. Which caused a maid with a tray of glasses and Wooyoung’s favorite bottle of liquor to enter.

Wooyoung took the bottle, disregarding the glasses and took a swig.

“Have we heard back from San? He needs to come home now. I already hated that he had to do this. Now with Princess gone, I need to know that he’s safe too. And I’m sure he’d also want to find her.” Wooyoung rambled, jittery due to the present status of his lovers are up in the air.

“We just sent the message to him. He’ll respond soon.” Yeosang sighed, trying to reassure him by also softly grabbing his hand. However he also then poured himself some of the liquor and took a sip.

Suddenly a rushed knock on the door was heard.

“Come in!” Mingi yelled.

“Sirs! A message from Sir San!” A different henchmen hurriedly walked in and dropped a small note on the table.

“Good. Now leave.” Wooyoung said.

The henchmen nodded, also kissing the rings on their fingers before leaving.

Yeosang then took the note. It was only two words but it caused him to jump up from his seat. He bellowed for whoever was nearby to come in.

“Get Captain! We need to leave now!!” He ordered firmly.

“What?! What did he say?!” Wooyoung asked also jumping up.

‘Causing Mingi to also step forward curiously.

Yeosang merely had to show them the note for them to understand.

‘She’s here.’

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

Locked away in a small and quite frankly ugly room is currently where you are. Truth be told?

You’re just bored.

You wanted to go home.

Thats all.

You knew the second you were taken your husbands will bring upon hell on earth. So you’re just waiting for that to happen.

You’re not sure how they were able to figure out you were their wife in the first place though. Someone on your staff must’ve snitched. Well you can deal with them later.

Right now they just need to hurry and pick you up.

Ugh you bought such a pretty new dress to show off to them…

It’s probably ruined in that dingy disgusting alley by now.

Shame.

A loud thud can suddenly be heard outside of your locked door and it caused your heart to race. Soon the door unlocked to reveal the beauty that is Choi San.

“Sannie!!” You chirped excitedly.

You leaped from the bed only to be pulled back.

“Ugh! Stupid handcuff.” You grumbled. Completely forgetting it was there.

“Oh Princess!!” San said as he made his way to you in a flash, quickly uncuffing you. With a key you’re not so sure where he got it from. A knocked out guard possibly. No matter though.

As now with your arms free you can finally engulf your husband in a big hug once again.

“Oh my sweet darling! What happened?? How are you here???” He asked as he pulled away and checked every inch of you to see where you were hurt.

“I’m not sure my Sannie. One minute I was walking to the car then the next thing I knew these big oafs grabbed me and dragged me here. I’m fine though love! I promise! Minor bruises and scratches is all..” You explained and try to reassure him.

You knew it was in vain though as even a microscopic scratch on you will cause any of your husbands to go on a rampage.

The fact your old butler is now six feet under for giving you a small cut is proof enough.

“Princess.. you’re clearly hurt…” San said with a sigh. “We’re so sorry.. This should’ve never happened.” He apologized softly stroking the bruise on your cheek.

“Hush now my love. You know there’s only one way I could ever possibly be considered hurt. And that is if anything were to ever happen to my precious husbands. Only then. Will I ever consider myself harmed.” Pure love and sincerity lacing your voice.

A voice San truly does miss. It’s been weeks since he’s home. Oh how he misses it.

“Well it’s good to know the feeling is mutual darling. As seeing these bruises and scuffs on your precious skin brings me nothing but great agony and ignites a fire in me like no other.” He explained as he kisses each visible blemish and cut.

“Don’t worry Princess. The others will be here very soon alright? Just sit tight. I need to get back to work to avenge you darling.” Once finished with his reassurance that your husbands are on their way, he finally gives you a kiss you’ve been craving ever since he left the comforts of your home.

“Okay my love. Though do be quick. I’m awfully bored. Oh and by the way..” You start as you softly trail your hand down his chiseled body. “You should start dressing like this at home. I’m sure the others would also very much enjoy it!” You giggle as your hand made it to his crotch. Cupping it.

Oh you missed the little twitch it does so much.

“Ah yes, hmm your wish is forever my command Princess.” He replies with a chuckle. He then takes your hand and kisses the wedding band on your finger softly.

“I love you Princess. I’ll be back.”

“I love you too.”

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

“Ah yes. Mr. Jeong. Welcome to my humble abode! I see my offer finally has caught your eye.”

Yunho doesn’t bother to reply before walking in.

“My, how rude you are. But very well. I’m sure you’re uneasy as.. something is missing.” The man then continues to taunt with a smirk.

Yunho’s face remains stoic, however his fist clenches a bit tighter.

“I have no time for your games.” Yunho simply states before letting himself into the mans office. Yunho then sits down and tells the man to do the same. “State exactly what it is you want. We’ll talk from there.”

The man lets out a scoff before sitting down across from him.

He then claps his hand which causes a very familiar man to walk in to bring in a tray of drinks.

“Thank you San.” The man says in a smirk, once again causing the diamonds in his mouth to shine.

San simply ignores him.

No longer seeing the need to act accordingly.

As San makes his way to leave, he gets stopped by a hand on his exposed abdomen.

“Excuse me. I don’t believe I’ve given you permission to touch my lovely toys.” The man warns Yunho.

Who is simply admiring his husband.

“Hmm… well, ‘your toy.’ Is quite the specimen I must say. Can’t seem to help myself.” Yunho says with a smirk towards San, running his hand up and down his body.

Oh lord how much they’ve missed each other’s touch.

With San’s back facing the man, he can’t see the smirk that San reciprocates to Yunho. Yunho lets out a soft chuckle before taking San’s hand and kissing his ring finger. That was unfortunately currently empty.

“Leave San.” The man growls.

San does. But not before softly grazing his fingers across Yunho’s broad shoulders.

“Odd.. he usually never lets anyone else touch him…” the man mumbles to himself softly. Too stupid to realize what’s going on.

“So you’ve stolen our Princess. Due to that you expect us to work with you. Is that it?” Yunho finally cuts to the chase.

“Well you’d do anything to get her back wouldn’t you?” The man replies cockily.

“Naturally.”

“Well then work with me. Then I’ll set her free. Simple!”

CRASH

“You’re a bigger idiot than we thought.”

Suddenly the sounds of bullets firing, screams and yells can be heard throughout the mansion.

The man, the coward he truly is, instinctively hides under the desk at all the noise. However that desks gets thrown off of him, revealing Yunho standing above him. Gun aimed straight to his forehead.

“Run.”

Without a second thought he books it out of the room. Only to be met with the bodies of his henchmen, maids and toys scattered about. Blood coating the walls and floors. He was frozen in shock. That is before a bullet goes flying near his head grazing his ear.

“AH!”

“I said. Run.”

The man once again runs, but also stupidly tries his luck and pulls out his own gun. Before he could even aim at Yunho, his gun was shot out of his hand.

“The more you try to survive. The less likely it’ll be the case. So when my husband tells you to run. You run.” Jongho simply states standing in the living room. Surrounded by dead bodies, shattered chandeliers, ruined paintings, and mangled musical instruments.

While he was devastated at the state of his fortune he was thankfully still smart enough to value his life more. So he began to rush again.

He thought that maybe he could take the shortcut that leads to his garage through his dining room. So thats where his running legs took him as bullets were still flying everywhere. So much so that he can’t tell which came from his own men and which came from ATZ.

As he made it into the dining room he was only met with the sight of his most precious car on top of his dining table.

“Oh? Were you planning on escaping with this? Hmm. That doesn’t seem possible now does it?” Seonghwa taunts while sitting on the roof of the car.

“All this over some girl?!?!” The man roars enraged of what has become of his hard work.

Seonghwa’s expression hardens in the blink of an eye. Without another word he stands and pulls out his gun then starts shooting at the man without mercy.

The man realizes his mistake too late and gets shot in the shoulder and grazed on the thigh. However the adrenaline pumping through his veins was still enough to have him dashing out of the room.

He no longer has a plan and getting slightly dazed from the blood he’s losing, he’s just trying to get out of there. He opens the nearest door to him hoping it’ll lead to an exit.

Unfortunately for him, once again he’s met with a horrible sight and sound.

“Ah! You’ve finally come to play!” Yeosang says with a smile laced with venom.

What the man has stumbled into is his indoor tennis courtroom. Where currently Yeosang and Yunho have gathered a bunch of his henchmen, somehow tied up their upper bodies, and made them into moving targets for their tennis practice.

Many of his henchmen had succumbed to their injuries and their blood has splattered and painted the walls, floor and ceiling.

Frozen in shock due to the gruesome display, Yunho took the opportunity to serve and strike a tennis ball straight to the mans face.

“Wonderful shot my love!!” Yeosang cheers.

“Your turn handsome.”

Yeosang then wastes no time before doing the same and hitting the man right on the crotch.

“Oops wasn’t aiming for that but I’ll take it.”

“I would say you got a higher score than me.” Yunho chuckles.

This man still doesn’t give up however.

Not like the boys wanted him too anyway. They always loved a challenge and this man hasn’t even payed a fraction of his sins.

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

After hearing the commotion thats happening outside your ugly holding room, you knew it only meant one thing.

Your lovely husbands are finally here to pick you up.

While the man that thought he could have his way by kidnapping you was being dealt with, the door to your room opened revealing your knights in shining armor.

Oh my! They look absolutely gorgeous in their suits.

If circumstances were any different you would’ve happily have them take you right then and there.

“My loves!!!” You screeched happily and skipped your way over to them.

“Oh Princess!!!” Wooyoung exclaimed happily as he wrapped you up in his arms.

Seonghwa and Jongho doing the same.

“Are you hurt Princess??” Seonghwa asked worriedly. “Oh my you are! Oh we’re so sorry darling…” Seonghwa didn’t even let you answer.

“My loves I’m fine! I promise I’m fine! I have you here, I’m alright. Where are the others..?” You ask with a pout.

“Oh they’re dealing with pests right now Princess don’t worry. It won’t take them too long.” Jongho says with a soft comforting smile.

“Hmm alright.. are you three taking me home?”

“Yes we are darling! Come no- goodness! what an ugly room they kept you in!! Our Princess doesn’t deserve this?!” Wooyoung then exclaims when finally taking notice of the room. Genuinely upset that you were kept in such an ugly room.

“I know right?! It’s so tacky!!” You say with an eyeroll. Seonghwa and Jongho can only chuckle at your antics.

The three of them then safely brought you outside. Where you were met with Hongjoong waiting patiently on the hood of the limousine.

Also looking immensely good. As in ‘please fuck me right now’ levels of good.

Alas.

Circumstances didn’t allow it.

“Joongie!!!” You exclaim happily as you sprint to him.

Hongjoong quickly opens his arms for you. You jump into his arms as he picks you up and spins you around.

“Oh our Princess.. we were so worried. We’re so glad you’re okay!” Hongjoong sighs in relief.

“Of course I’m okay! You’re my husbands! Nothing will ever harm me!” You say with your gorgeous smile.

“You were taken sweetie.. We’re oh so sorry…”

“Oh enough with your apologies! I’m fine! I promise I’m fine! It seems like you guys constantly forget my vows! Now that hurts! You know I’m only ever hurt when you guys are!” You remind them.

“Well the bruises on your sweet body may not hurt you but they do hurt us sweetie. So that makes it hurt you!” Wooyoung explains going off your logic.

“Alright smarty pants!” You huff.

“Besides! You all bruise me constantly! Do you not?” You tease.

“Those are different love.” Seonghwa says with a knowing glance and grin. Stepping closer to you.

“You know that very well. Any bruising or scratches done to your skin that is caused by us is all because you wished for it. Done specifically for your pleasure.” Jongho says as he leans forward as well to kisses a certain spot under your jaw.

You quickly bit your lip to suppress the moan bubbling up your throat.

Once Jongho pulls away, and you’ve calmed down, you look at all of them properly and smile.

“In all seriousness I’m fine my loves. I really am. You’re here now. You saved me. Like I knew you would. What happened to me was not because of you. Someone betrayed us that I’m sure of and we can deal with that later. Now can you all just take me home?”

“Very well our sweet.” Seonghwa says with a smile as he steps forward to kiss the crown of your head.

As you were about to enter the car you noticed Hongjoong still just standing there.

“My love? Are you not coming with?” You ask.

“Not yet Princess. I need to watch over and there are things I must do. Go home with the others. We’ll be home soon.” He informs with a smile.

“Hmm very well… Don’t take too long though! Tell that to the others too! I miss my husbands!!” You grumble.

“And we miss you. No worries. Being away from you after everything that has happened aches me as much as you.”

“Hmm alright. See you soon my beloved.”

With a final flying kiss goodbye, you enter the car with the rest. You all then drive off as Hongjoong turns around and looks at the mess he intends to finish.

Back in what was once a mansion, with the help of his henchmen that are still abled bodied and loyal to him. The man that caused all of this is executing a plan of escape.

They were finally able to sneak past all of the chaos that was still happening, to the last functioning escape car they know of.

Or so they thought.

Before they could even start the car. That wouldn’t have worked anyway.

They noticed San standing in front of it.

With an expression none of them have ever seen.

“San..?” The man questions as he thought San would’ve been killed as well.

San without even thinking twice, pulls out his own gun and shoots the very last henchmen he had, dead.

Merely as second after their bodies slumped over, a fist slammed into the window of the mans side, cracking it.

“Get out.”

Laughed.

The man laughed.

Thats the only thing he can do in this situation.

Incredibly bloodied, bruised and broken.

With everything he had worked for.

Gone. In less than a 12 hours.

All because he thought he could kidnap you and get away with it.

He then finally got out and stood in front of Mingi.

Where Mingi happily grabbed him by the back of the collar and dragged him to the front of the mansion. Here he threw him down in front of the feet of his lovers that had stayed behind. Their sea of henchmen standing behind them.

Before Hongjoong even acknowledged him, he turned to San. Admiring his body that he missed as much as the others but then clicks his tongue. He grabbed the fur coat San was still wearing then asked.

“He gave you this?”

San simply nodded.

Scoffing he tugs on it more, silently telling San to take it off as he takes his own off.

“No husband of mine will wear such a cheap and ugly fur coat like this any longer.” He complains as he puts his coat on San.

Thankfully he wore the big sized one today. It fits San perfectly.

“H-husband..?”

“Yes. Husband.” Hongjoong replies still admiring San but now also running his hand up and down his body.

Now these are the touches San’s been craving for all these weeks.

“Oh which reminds me!” Yeosang exclaims before pulling out a familiar gold band.

Seeing this causes a huge smile to appear on San’s face and his eyes to light up.

As he did many years ago, Yeosang took San’s hand and slipped his wedding ring back right where it belongs. Kissing it to seal the deal.

“Hmm. Much better. Oh also! You should start dressing like this at home.” The smirk never leaving Hongjoong as he says it.

“I agree.” Mingi states.

The other lovers humming in agreement.

San could only chuckle.

“Princess said the same thing.”

“Well we must make it happen then.” Yunho said with a wide cheeky smile.

“What the fuck is going on?!”

Oh they forgot he was there-

“You really did mess with the wrong people you stupid man.” Yeosang sighs bored of the man already.

“I have a name?!”

“We clearly don’t care. And it clearly won’t matter anymore.” Mingi says with an eyeroll as he flicks open a lighter.

“So this is it? You’re gonna set me on fire?”

“Yes.” San says.

The mans eyes shot wide. Somehow not expecting the blunt answer.

“Not before you watch everything you have burn of course.” Hongjoong says as Mingi throws the lighter behind the man.

The lighter then lands in a trail of gasoline that leads to mangled furniture and fortunes that are strewn about, before leading to the actual mansion.

It doesn’t take long until everything goes up in flames.

The man watches in agony as everything. Everything. Burns. He then turns to the men and curses.

“You’ve taken everything.. literally everything. Must you really kill me too?” The man asks somehow still trying to make it out of this alive.

“I won’t bother you again… I’ll just vanish. Live a quiet life please. You won’t gain anything from killing me. You got her back!!!” He bargains.

SMACK

“Don’t even think about mentioning her again. No. Don’t even think about her. Your mind is not worthy to have her in it.” Hongjoong says after slapping him straight across the face.

“You’re right though. We won’t gain anything from your death. We won’t even gain satisfaction.” Yunho starts.

“However. We’re merely just punishing sinners.” Yeosang continues.

“Before you even bother. No. You haven’t suffered enough. Not even close. But we could’ve done much more. So consider yourself lucky. As of now at least. As we’re sure in hell you’ll suffer even more for what you’ve done.” Mingi adds with a gleaming smirk.

“You took our Princess. Your greatest sin and stupidest mistake. So for that. You must pay the price.” San explains further.

“To put it simply. You gotta die.” Hongjoong finishes as he steps forward and grabs the mans collar.

“‘Cause you being alive is still a sin in itself. Why? Well... you’re still breathing her air.”

And with that, Hongjoong merely gives him one last shove. Making the man fall back into the flames.

His screams of suffering can be heard for miles. However due to his extensive injuries it didn’t take long for said screams to just stop. Leaving nothing but the melody of crackling fire in the air.

Once that happened, Hongjoong lazily chucked in San’s old fur coat into the flames as well. Coincidentally the coat landed perfectly on the mans, now charred, body. This action actually made Yunho chuckle.

“Oh. Like he needed that. I’m sure he’s toasty enough.” Yunho commented sarcastically.

In turn causing everyone else to also let out a laugh.

“Well. Thought he might want to descend to hell wearing what he thinks is fashion.” Hongjoong reasons with a shrug.

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

As the fire burned on ATZ and their henchmen just watched. Making sure everything gets burned to the ground. Took a while but it was beautiful in a way so they didn’t mind.

Once the fire started dying down the sound of a car approaching was heard.

Odd.

They were supposed to wait at home.

The car came to a halt and then the rest of ATZ exited. As they walked up to ones who were watching, the henchmen parted straight down the middle to make way before returning to position.

The rest that just arrived now stand next to the others as they also tuned in to watch the fire.

“Weren’t you all supposed to wait at home and keep Princess company?” Yeosang asked.

“Well we were. But we all missed you too much. And you know Princess loves watching the show. Plus.. she was getting needy for all of us.” Seonghwa explains with a subtle smile.

“Aaah I see. Oh! But she shouldn’t be breathing this much smoke though!” San says worriedly.

“Relax. We made her wait in the car. She can still view it well but she won’t be in harms way.” Jongho reassures before handing San a pair of pants.

“Good. Oh? What’s this? You’re not enjoying seeing me like this like the others are Jongie?” San teases.

Jongho simply rolls his eyes and ignores him. Biting the inside of his cheek hoping no one notices his flushed cheeks. Also trying to not look down at San’s bulge.

“I think he just doesn’t want to be distracted. This is the first time we’ve seen you in weeks Sannie. We missed you very much. You and your sexy body.” Mingi says as he nudges Jongho’s shoulder.

Jongho just softly nudges Mingi back.

“Just say you miss my cock.”

“We all do.” Wooyoung chirped in with a smack to San’s ass.

A couple of hours past before the fire finally dies down and the smoke begins to clear.

Their work here is finally done.

And just ust like that the car door then opens.

Then out walks you, their Princess, wearing one of your newest most lavish and expensive dress in your favorite color. You’re also all dolled up just for them.

At the sight of you exiting the car, the sea of henchmen that were still standing behind your husbands, quickly part to make way like before. However this time, they also got down on their knees, head down, in respect.

As they should.

“What a beautiful sight! Oh my loves you outdid yourselves with this one!” You praise them giddy as if you weren’t talking about the scene of a gruesome massacre.

“An appropriate punishment for such a sinner don’t you think Princess?” Hongjoong asks as he takes your hand.

“I suppose.” You hum as you stand beside him.

“Now that you’re done, can we please leave? I’m hungry!”

“Ah! One more thing before we leave!” Hongjoong announces as he walks towards the ashes.

In said ashes, there lies the skeleton of the man that started all of this. With a wide smirk on his face, Hongjoong carefully crouches down and picks up a small but very sparkly diamond from the teeth of said skeleton.

Hongjoong, smirk not faltering even a bit, makes his way back to you and takes your hand.

“What do you think princess? Shall we customize you a new ring?” He asks showing the diamond.

“Oh my! Yes please! Oh! And check for any more jewels that are left behind in these ashes and rubble! We shouldn’t let such pretty things go to waste.”

“Of course darling.” Jongho starts before turning his attention to the men that were still on their knees before you.

“You heard her.”

“YES SIR!”

Like that they all got up, bowed to you once more before rushing to the ashes where a lavish mansion once stood. In search of anything shiny that might please you.

“Hmmm can we pleeeasee eat now?” You ask with a pout.

“Yes we can our Princess. Yes we can.” Seonghwa tells you with a smile as they all lead you back to the car.

“Can we go to my favorite place tonight?”

“Anything for our Princess.”

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

Bonus ending! ♡

© mimikittysblog 2024

Tagging: @faeprincess777 @starygw3n @bee-gremlin @pinkpearlstar @sweetinsaniiity @puppyminnnie @borahae-reads @spenceatiny18 @justconniez @rosydipity @vtyb23 @beccaskz @boredlol914 @ntlmundy @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @ateezswonderland @peachyy-jooniee @robertsbbygirl @hanniehq @smally97 @pixie0627 @haven-cove @jaerisdiction @btskzfav @bbyunicornbby @tinybada @cecilleasworld @mudent @mortal-advocate @jjcanwrite

Those who are italicized I could not tag for some reason :(

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 1

Or: a secret Admirer AU

Less than a month into the school year, and Steve’s already making use of the library. If Mrs. Click could see him now, she’d be proud–until she caught sight of the blank notebook page in front of him and the lack of textbooks on the table. 

He feels stupid; he’s hunched over his notebook, trying to make his thoughts transfer onto the page in any coherent form. But, he’s not like Eddie with his impassioned speeches and clever English papers.

Words flow through Eddie in fully-formed, concrete ideas. For Steve, it’s more of a drip. Each word has to be scaffolded onto the previous one with blood, sweat, and tears. Even then, it’s never quite right. Too abrupt, never what he was actually trying to say.

He’s just never been good with words.

By the time he gives up, there’s more crossed out than left written, so he gets a clean page of paper and transcribes it as best he can. He’s left with:

       Your hair is pretty. Do you use conditioner?

Steve tears it from his notebook and lays it flat atop his table in the library, smoothing out any crinkles in the page. It feels like the start to something, sure, but there’s more blank space on the page than words. By a lot.

He leans back over his work, adds a little wonky heart in his blue pen and signs the whole thing—

       ❤ your secret admirer

—the way all the girls who leave notes in his locker do. Their notes are usually on pretty paper, written in sparkly gel pen that smells like strawberries. The i’s are sometimes dotted with little hearts he’ll never admit to finding cute. And there’s envelopes involved, and usually more than eleven measly words.

His looks like something Eddie’ll toss out before opening, mistaking it for trash.

Steve grimaces. How do girls do this? Do they all take some sort of class on how to write pretty letters on pretty enough paper that boys will fall in love with them? Is that what they teach in Home Ec? He should have never let Tommy mock him into switching to shop class.

Should he ask a girl?

Under no conditions will he ever ask Carol. She’d have far too many uncomfortable questions and tell the whole school all of his embarrassing answers. He’d be run out of town within days, Carol holding the sharpest pitchfork.

Steve leans back in his chair with a groan too loud for the library and fists his hands to rub tired eyes.

“Are you okay?” Steve jerks, sending his pen and paper careening to the ground in his attempt to cover the compromising words upon the page. “Oh, sorry!”

Steve watches, horrified, as Chrissy Cunningham bends down to pick his supplies up off the carpet before he’s had time to scramble out of his chair. She’s in her cheer uniform, white zip-up Hawkins hoodie covering her arms. She looks perfect and preppy and just like all the girls who’ve ever left a note in his locker.

She’d be able to write something that Eddie would want to read.

“Steve?” Chrissy’s hovering over him, lips pursed, eyes big and worried. “Are you okay?”

“Shit, sorry,” he replies. She’s got his note clutched to her chest. He curls his fingers against the urge to reach out for it—that’ll just draw her attention, and that’s the last thing Steve wants right now. “Just got lost in my head.”

“Anything I can help with?”

He knows what she’s going to do before it happens. Chrissy’s sweet—if there’s a way to help, she’ll want to. So, she holds out the paper and begins to read, probably expecting an assignment she can tutor him on, and there they are: Steve’s damning words written in still-wet blue ink.

Her brow furrows as she takes an obscene amount of time mouthing out the words before she looks back up to meet his eyes. “Did someone give this to you?”

Her eyes are still big, but they look sad now, like just the thought of someone receiving the note he’d slaved over is enough to distress her. Unable to help himself, Steve snatches it from her hands and crumples it into a ball, damning words hidden in his fist.

Chrissy gasps at his abrupt movement and takes a halting step away.

“I wrote it,” he mutters, no longer able to meet her eyes.

She’s silent for long enough that he’d think she left, except the library’s quiet, and he hasn’t heard her take a step. He stares at the grains of the wood in the table, empty hand rubbing against the smudged top as he waits for her to do something.

“Are you…” she starts, trailing off for a moment before picking her thought back up, “…picking on someone?”

Steve clenches his fist tighter, note crinkling beyond repair beneath his nails as he mutters, “no.”

Chrissy’s quiet again. Steve doesn’t dare to look up, even as he hears the chair across from him pull out, the sound of her weight settling into the wood. The table’s just so interesting. Nothing has ever been as intriguing as the little chip out of its edge, the ring on the wood where someone had let their drink condensate against all the library’s rules.

“Who’s this for?” Chrissy’s voice is soft now, like he’s some sort of horse, prone to bolting when spooked. “Steve?”

Steve looks up. Her eyes aren’t sad anymore; they’re piercing.

He’s always liked Chrissy. She’s the nicest girl in the school, until someone does something she doesn’t like. Then, it’s all disappointed eyes, and pouty lips. It’s like disappointing his Mom, but worse, because his Mom’s never around to stare balefully at him.

The point is, Chrissy’s nice. She’s not like Carol. If he told her, there would be no lynch mob, or fleeing Hawkins in the dead of the night with nothing but the clothes on his back. Probably. Maybe.

Steve tries to smooth out the page, and scowls down at it when the wrinkles refuse to disappear. It’s even worse now, words made illegible by the deep creases his fingers have pressed into the paper. There’s no way Eddie’d ever want a note like this.

So, he says, “Munson,” looking up to try to watch his meaning land on her face.

It doesn’t. Her foreheads all scrunched up as she looks down at the note. Only then does Steve realize he’s caressing the wonky little heart. He pulls his hand back, curling his fingers in so she can’t see the smudge of blue on his pointer finger.

“And you aren’t making fun of him?”

Steve can feel his shoulders drooping. He wants to disappear into the floor, melt into the carpet and become one with all the other mysterious stains upon it. “No.”

“Oh,” Chrissy replies, drawn out and low as she peers down at the crinkled note with a confused frown. But something must click because she straightens, eyes wide beneath her bangs. “Oh!”

It’s loud enough that they both reflexively flinch. But, when no librarians come skulking around any corners, Chrissy turns back to him, gaze uncomfortably intent. Steve wonders, somewhat horrified by the turn his life has taken, if he’s about to get hate-crimed by a cheerleader half his size.

But Chrissy’s nice—always has been, always will be. So, she bites her lip and looks furtively around like she’s only just realized this is a conversation that shouldn’t have any witnesses. “But you like him?” she whispers.

Steve leans forward, matching her energy and pitch as he replies, “yeah,” quiet enough that it’s barely a breath. Chrissy smiles at him, warm and small, just like her hand as she reaches across the table to put it over his and squeeze comfortingly.

The note sits, damningly soiled beneath their linked hands, wrinkled, and smudged, and barely-legible handwriting. The weight that’d lifted with Chrissy’s smile sinks back into his gut.

“But it doesn’t matter,” Steve says, letting go of her hand so he can pull the note closer to himself. “I’m no good at this stuff.”

Steve crinkles the note back up. It’s unsalvageable—a stupid idea executed badly.

He’s in the middle of stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans to keep his keys company until he can toss it out in the comfort of his home when Chrissy says, “maybe I can help?” voice lilting up, like it’s a question.

Steve meets her eyes, hand still half-shoved in his pocket. She’s all earnest now, the way she usually is when there isn’t a sad boy infecting her with his own ineptitude. Eyes shining with conviction, bangs curling sweetly around her face. She’s no Carol, that’s for sure.

“How?” he asks, and when she smiles, it looks a bit like hope.

***

 “I can help you write a better letter,” Chrissy starts. He perks up like a dog the moment its owner gets home. “If you do something for me.”

She feels like scum when he curls back into himself, gaze forlorn.

When she’d caught sight of the note he’d spent what seemed like a full hour pouring over, this isn’t what she’d been expecting. And when she’d finally made out his chicken scratch scrawl, she’d been sure Steve was picking on someone, no matter how unlike him it would have been. But then his shoulders had curled in, and his ears had turned red, and his voice had gone all soft and squishy when he’d said Eddie Munson’s name.

And she’d just wanted to fix it.

So, even as he asks, “what?” all sad and droopy again, she knows she’s going to help him, no matter what he says.

“Date me,” she asserts. It’s only as Steve blinks stupidly at her that she realizes how that came out of her mouth. “No, wait, not really!”

Her hands are waving around wildly and she can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. In contrast, Steve seems to come back into himself, shoulders shoring up as he smirks across at her with his signature raised brow. The one he’d used while leaning on Nancy Wheeler’s locker last year, or holding her books as they walked to class, and all the other assortment of stereotypical boyfriend activities.

He’d worn it all the time, like it was part of the uniform. 

“I just meant, we could fake it?” His right eyebrow raises to meet his left, forehead scrunching up with his incredulity. “It’s just, Jason and I broke up? And he won’t leave me alone.”

It takes all her strength to keep meeting his eyes as the seconds tick away. But then Steve nods, swings his letterman jacket off, and tosses it across at her. Unprepared for his sudden movement, it hits her in the face and drops into her lap.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he says with a cheesy wink that somehow manages to feel more genuine than any of his actual flirting techniques. “Gotta sell it somehow.”

“What a romantic,” she replies, deadpan, but she pulls his jacket on anyway, something that feels an awful lot like relief steadying her heart rate as she smooths down the too-long sleeves.

Jason’s going to freak out. But after that, maybe he’ll stop calling her house, and trying to put his arm around her at lunch, and trying to pick her up for school every morning. She’d do almost anything to get it into his thick skull that she’s not interested.

So, here she is, hashing out the details of a secret admirer letter from Steve Harrington to Eddie Munson, of all the unlikely pairings.

“What’s wrong with what I wrote?” Steve whines, running his fingers through his hair until it’s all mussed up and falling into his face.

Chrissy snorts. “It sounds like you’re telling him his hair is frizzy and dry.”

“I said it was pretty!” He throws his hands in the air before crossing them and pouting his lower lip out.

Chrissy can’t help but laugh. She’s always liked Steve. He’s nicer than most of his friends, and he’s easy to talk to. But this is a side she’s never seen of him. She’s not sure anyone has; can’t imagine Carol or Tommy seeing him put his whole heart into something and not tearing it to shreds.

“Do you use conditioner?” she asks, throwing finger quotations around it as she reads it off the crumpled page.

Steve’s blushing again, cheeks all blotchy and red, rather unbecoming for the shoo-in for this year’s prom king. “Well, I thought you said you’d help!” he says, a little too loud for the library.

So, that’s how she ends up spending the next hour painfully turning Steve’s earnest thoughts into words on the pretty baby blue paper she’d carefully removed from the back of her daily planner.

In the end, they’re left with this:

       Eddie –

       I wish I could say this to your face, but I’ve never been good with words, and you’d probably think it was a joke.

       I can’t even get myself to talk to you, you’re so distracting.

       I like how pretty your hair is. How do you get your curls so shiny? I want to run my fingers through them.

       I hope this note brightens up your day. You deserve all the smiles you can get.

       Yours,

       Your Secret Admirer

It’s not what she would write, but still, it’s leagues better than what he’d started with. She slides it across to Steve, and he smiles down at it. He reaches his hand out, fingers almost brushing the page before he pulls his hand back, curling his fingers into a fist.

“What if someone sees me?” he asks, voice so quiet she can barely hear him even in the resounding silence of the library.

They’d managed not to talk about it, the dangers of Steve liking a boy. But it’d been present in the hesitancy by which he shared each of his thoughts, looking up at her like each remark would be the last straw before she recoils in disgust.

If someone finds out that Steve has a crush on a boy, it won’t take long until he’s getting beat up between classes or heckled straight out of school. Heck, even with all the rumors floating around about him, Eddie might be the one to throw the first punch.

“Do you want me to deliver it for you?” she asks.

“You’d do that?” he asks back, because apparently no one ever taught him not to answer a question with a question. “For me?”

“What else are fake girlfriends for?” she asks because they’re all questions now, no answers to be had between the pair of them.

Steve laughs, all tension leaving his shoulders as he throws his head back with amusement, eyes downright twinkling as he beams across at her.

“You’re the best, Chrissy,” Steve says, smiling even brighter as she replies, “I know.”

She leaves school that night after pushing Steve Harrington’s love note through the slats of Eddie’s locker, Steve’s letterman jacket keeping her warm from the cold.

This might be the best relationship she’s ever had, fake or not. Eat your heart out, Jason Carver.

PART 2

Welcome to my new AU! This will be posted in 21 parts. It is complete, so there will be a new update each morning until it's all posted. I've elected not to do a tag list, but it will be added to my pinned post each day as well. If that's not your speed, it will be added to Ao3 once it's all been posted here.

Special shoutout to @queenie-ofthe-void for not only their usual fabulous beta work, but also both the original idea and the writing of some of the secret admirer letters. You not only make me a better writer, but this work literally would not exist without you. <3<3

Title of the fic from the song Eyes in the Sun by Florist

[tinlune]

The Discovery

Kaiser’s taken?

Everyone in Bastard München got quite the shock when a woman suddenly showed up at one of their practices out of the blue. A real, live woman. That was unfathomable to the teenage boys, most of whom were painfully awkward when interacting with a member of the female species outside of their immediate family.

Everyone was still, the silence deafening. No one knew who she was, except for Kaiser who began to walk up to the mysterious woman with his signature cocky grin.

“You just can’t get enough of me, can you? Was it too long for you to wait mein engel?

The team just stared on as Kaiser flirted with this woman but with an obvious degree of familiarity. Why was the team’s ace calling this random lady a sweet nickname, romantic nickname..oh. Oh. Wait, Kaiser was in a relationship? And that just opened up a whole new can of worms.

Strangely enough, Noel Noa wasn’t doing anything about the disturbance. In fact, he looked bored. Like this was a completely normal thing to happen..or he was expecting it.

“You’re so full of yourself but what if I did miss you?”

“Then I would think that’s adorable. Now, let’s go somewhere else to talk, where we won’t be looked at like we’re the entertainment for the night.”

“Whatever you want.”

And they walked off, Kaiser guiding her to some unknown location.

When the pair was out of sight, the team erupted into chatter. “Who is she? Do you know her? Does Kaiser actually have a girl? More importantly, how did she get in here? Why?” Many of the Blue Lock guys were lost navigating this new dynamic, especially when they were still acclimating to this new team.

After allowing them a few moments to process and talk amongst themselves, Noel Noa spoke up. “Why are you all standing around here doing nothing? Is this not a place for you to hone your skills?”

A collective mumbling of sheepish “yes Coach” followed, the crowd dispersing and going off to the practices they were doing before, albeit more distracted.

Noa simply sighed. It was tiring dealing with teenage boys day in and day out, not to mention push them into their full potential.

The next day Kaiser was back, acting as if yesterday had never happened and the rest of the team had collectively hallucinated it. No one tried to ask him about it, which culminated in the entire team just sort of awkwardly glancing at Kaiser, hoping that he’ll take the hint and just start talking about it, which he thankfully did.

“If you all are wondering about yesterday, yes I have a girlfriend.” Wife actually but he didn’t exactly want to deal with the whole line of questioning about being married.

And Isagi couldn’t just keep his mouth shut and asked the question for everyone. “How?”

“Oh Yoichi, what do you think? We confessed to each other and we’re dating, simple as that.”

But Isagi didn’t look convinced and neither did anyone else except Ness who was just nodding along like every word Kaiser said was an indisputable fact of life.

“No I mean how did you get her to stick around? You two clearly have been together for a while so how does she deal with you?” The filter between his mouth and brain clearly must have been removed somehow because there was no gap between what he was thinking and what he was saying.

“You act as if I’m the most unpleasant person to ever traverse the Earth, you wound me Yoichi. And to answer your question, she sticks around because she wants to.” Kaiser was actually quite amused by this whole questioning thing, who knew it would be so funny to watch his teammates be dumbfounded that he had a relationship?

Isagi still looked at him like he was saying grass is blue but fortunately, the filter between his mouth and brain had come back so he wisely chose not to engage further.

“Oh Yoichi I know you are so curious about what goes on in my life but stick to your own won’t you? The attention is flattering really but it can get annoying if you keep going.”

Isagi just walked away to another area of the pitch, deciding to be the bigger person this time.

Kaiser merely sighed. It was hard work being the center of attention, always having eyes on you. At least he had you to come back to.

[householdcryptid]

Omg you’ve rotted my brain with on-call nurse reader x pope!

I’m watching AK from the start now, I’m almost done season one and like 😍😍 I love the concept so much

I especially like imagining how everyone reacts to her being into Pope, like everyone expects her to be into Baz or even Craig, but nope, she’s head over heels for Pope and nothing will change that

Like remember in one of the first episodes when Smurf asked Nicky, ‘if you had to choose one to be stuck on an island with, who would it be?’ Imagine the reaction to nurse reader answering pope haha

I also love the idea of Pope being obsessed with someone that is equally obsessed with him… he deserves it… but anywayssss

Okay, hope you don’t mind my rambling, I’m done for now!

please! ramble all you like! you're sooo right btw he needs someone equally as obsessed with him as he would be with them. my freaky little guy :)

sorry this ends so abruptly! i could not for the life of me figure out a better ending, so my sincerest apologies.

CW: smurf being YUCKY, uhh blood sort of, Pope Stare, nothing else I don't think ! she's a little 900 words

Spending time at the Cody house is not something you prefer to do. You think it wouldn’t be so bad, if Smurf weren’t there. The woman is nice enough, but there’s an air about her that makes you feel unwelcome. Like she’ll be damned if you feel like anything more than an outsider.

You’d only showed up for your check, but of course she’d insisted you stay for lunch. You’re starting to think said lunch is never coming.

Watching the boys wrestle each other in the middle of the pool is mildly amusing, at least. Not to mention it gives you a good excuse to ogle at Andrew. He’s different, since he got back from Folsom. You guess that makes sense, in a way, but it hurts your heart a bit to see him be so… closed off again. Not that he was particularly open before, but at least he’d been sleeping somewhat normally then.

You twitch forward the next time he climbs out of the pool. Blood drips from his mouth, falling in little rivulets of red down his chin and chest. It shouldn’t make your stomach twist like it does, you think, but God help you it’s kind of sexy.

You’re just opening your mouth to tell him to let you have a look at his mouth, for medical reasons only of course, when Smurf’s voice rings out.

“Sunshine, Nicky,” Your teeth grind together and you force a smile. “Would you come help me in the kitchen?”

It’s clear it isn’t so much a question as it is a demand, and if only for Nicky’s sake, you hop up and trail after the woman. You can feel Pope’s eyes on your back as you walk away.

Nicky is sweet, if a little naive. She trusts Smurf, you wish you could tell her not to.

“D’you always cook like this?” She asks the older woman in an incredulous tone, sprinkling salt on thick cuts of beef.

“My boys have big appetites.” Smurf replies from where she’s piping deviled egg mix into halved eggs. You watch from the corner of your eye, hands busy mixing coleslaw, when you catch Smurf’s smirk.

“If you were ship-wrecked on a dessert island, and you could only choose one,” Smurf starts, tipping her head to the side some, faux playful. It makes your skin crawl. “Who would you pick?”

The way she talks about her sons makes your stomach wrench with disgust. What kind of mother asks questions like that?

“Other than J, of course.” She goes on to clarify, uncaring of the slight discomfort in Nicky’s gaze. “I’m only asking, you’re a beautiful young girl.”

Nicky glances at you, before trailing her eyes to where the boy’s are drying off outside by the pool.

“Baz is… pretty cool.” She replies, a sheepish little smile playing at her lips.

You swallow down a snort of amusement. If Nicky knew how frequently Baz stepped out on Cath, you think, he wouldn’t seem so cool then.

“What about you, Sunny?” Smurf turns, giving you a plastic smile, her eyes sharp.

Your skin prickles with discomfort, your hands stilling for only a moment. You take a second to stall, look out at the boys yourself, just as Nicky had. Andrew is staring again, expression blank as he towels at his hair. You smile faintly, shrug a shoulder.

“Andrew, probably.”

Smurf tenses for only a second, the tiniest crack in her porcelain mask, before her smile widens, calculating.

“Interesting.” She hums, wiping her hands on the rag slung over her shoulder.

“Why?” Nicky asks, frowning, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. She seems to notice her mistake when both you and Smurf look to her, and she falters. “Well- I mean, he’s a little… scary, isn’t he?” She laughs, looking nervous.

“Not really,” You shrug. “If you don’t know him, yeah. I can see why you’d think that.” You cut a glance at Smurf, whose smile has faded. She looks at you like you’re a problem, something she needs to remove.

Nicky opens her mouth to reply, but the glass door slides open and Smurf’s smile returns.

“Smells good, Ma.” Craig grins, side stepping around you to grab new beers for everyone from the fridge.

Andrew hovers close to your side, but not close enough to touch, nursing a beer. He doesn’t say anything, not that you expect him to, but you turn to give him a smile anyway.

“Mouth okay?” You ask, as casual as you can manage, nodding to him.

He seems a bit taken aback by the question, eyes flickering across your face for a second.

“S’fine.” He mumbles, shrugging a shoulder, noncommittal, but his eyes soften just a touch.

His head tips to the side some, gaze flicking from you to his mother and then back again, a silent question residing in deep pools of hazely green.

You shrug, roll your eyes, wave a hand vaugely. Silent conversations are a common commodity with Pope, something you became accustomed to years ago.

Smurf’s eyes burn into the side of your skull, but you won’t give her the satisfaction she’s after. You know to be wary, but not fearful. Showing fear is like rolling over to show belly to Smurf.

It's easy to ignore her, when Andrew is giving you that look. Like nothing in the room is as interesting as you are. How can you care about his neurotic mother when he’s looking at you like that?

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part forty-one: lost

word count: 4.1k

warnings: this chapter contains strong themes of grief and mentions unhealthy coping mechanisms. reader discretion is advised.

forty | forty-one | forty-two

Y/N didn’t cry much after that night.

Not because it didn’t hurt anymore — but because the pain had settled into something colder, something quieter. The hurt became a folded up little thing she could tuck into her pocket like a gum wrapper, the kind of thing you could carry around without anyone noticing. 

She became quieter too – though not in any obvious way. 

She still smiled at customers. Still made the drinks just the way people liked them. Still answered questions in class and turned in assignments on time. But everything was... dulled. Worn thin. Like the brightness had been turned down on the world and she didn’t know how to turn it back up again.

She spent most of her time at the café now, each of her shifts starting sooner and ending later than the one before. 

Her coworkers noticed the change.

The Y/N they knew — the one who used to hum while she brewed espresso, who always snuck an extra cookie to the regulars and let the college kids study past closing — was quieter now, tired in a way concealer couldn’t fix.

“You should go home,” Susie tried gently on her way out one night as she watched Y/N wipe the already-clean counters for the second time. “You’ve been here more than twelve hours.”

“I’m fine,” she waved her off, not looking up. And she was, really.

She wore clean clothes, answered emails, turned in assignments. She smiled when people expected her to.

She certainly functioned.

Yet there was a wall now — thick and soundproof — between her and the girl she used to be. The one who’d looked at him and seen safety instead of danger. The one who’d kissed a man she didn’t know was capable of murder.

That girl was gone. In her place stood someone quieter, someone less trusting. This new version of her flinched every time the front door creaked open at the café and had to see the face before she could breathe again.

He hadn’t come back.

Not yet.

Maybe he wouldn’t.

She didn’t know what she wanted more — for him to stay gone, or to show up and give her a reason to let him back in. What hurt more than the lies, more than the betrayal, more than the night she held a knife in her shaking hand was the part of her that still wished it could go back.

Not to fix it, not to forgive – just to freeze the moment before it all broke, when she still believed the man who held her was just a little strange, but still safe. 

Still hers.

Soon after, Y/N stopped coming home before dark. Started spending longer hours at the café, telling herself there was always something else to do — inventory, supplier calls, mop the floors again even though they were clean. She picked up more shifts than she needed. Said yes when her professor asked if anyone wanted to stay after and help sort research journals.

She told herself she was moving on.

Unfortunately for her, however, everything in her life was still steeped in his memory.

There was the mug he’d dubbed as his own still in her cupboard, their throw blanket bunched on the couch where they’d up napping one way or another. There was still the half-read book on the nightstand that he’d teased her about, still dog-eared on page 214. She couldn’t be certain if his fingerprints remained embedded anywhere in her apartment, but somehow, she could feel them. 

Y/N could’ve sworn they were still there.

She didn’t delete his number. She didn’t throw away the hoodie he left or scrub the memory of his laughter from her walls. 

That would’ve meant acknowledging what happened. 

And when she finally did come home — late, exhausted, too numb to think — she kept the lights low, brushed her teeth in silence, and crawled into bed without looking at the spot beside her.

The spot where he once slept.

He had taken something good — something pure — and twisted it with lies.

And now she was left sorting through the pieces of something she couldn’t fix, because she didn’t know what was true anymore. What memories were hers to keep, and what had been built on deception from the beginning.

It had felt real. And that’s what made it unforgivable.

At first, it was just a notification – one missed call from a familiar name lighting up her screen like a wound.

Frozen in some sort of trance, she simply stared at it until it stopped ringing.

Then came the texts.

liam!: Please. liam!: Just tell me your okay? liam!: I’m not asking you to forgive me. I just need to know your safe. Read 12:55 AM

liam!: Y/N. liam!: I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. liam!: You don’t have to respond. But I’ll still always be sorry. Read Yesterday

She didn’t block him. She told herself it was so he’d know she was alive, so he’d stop worrying, so he wouldn’t show up.

But as fate would have it, he didn’t stop.

liam!: I shouldn’t of lied liam!: I don’t really know how to be who you needed. I just wanted to be near you liam!: You made me feel like I was more then the worst thing I’ve done liam!: Please let me explain. Please can I talk to you liam!: I can’t sleep. Can’t think strait liam!: I miss you Read 11:57 PM

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t block him. She couldn’t. She told herself it was because she wanted proof — a paper trail in case she needed to file something, explain something. But the truth was simpler.

She wasn’t ready to let go.

So she watched as the texts came in. One after the other.

liam! : Please talk to me

liam! : I didn’t know how to tell you. I never wanted you to find out like that.

liam! : I'm sorry

liam! : I miss you

liam! : Please. Just tell me youre ok

She didn’t answer. Not once.

But against her better judgement, she read every word.

She held her phone in her hand some nights, thumb hovering over the keyboard like maybe, just maybe, this time she’d respond. Maybe just one message. Just to say stop. Or I’m alive.

But she never did.

She’d walk into the café and feel her phone vibrate against her thigh and know it was him. Her thumb hovered over his name more times than she’d ever admit — but she never replied.

It only took a certain amount of concentration, she found, to not focus on the barrage of texts she knew awaited her the moment she would unlock her phone. So really, if she just focused on trying new recipes for the cafe or starting books she’d been meaning to read or walking Kika’s dog while she was out of town, then she wouldn’t have to even acknowledge the existence of those texts until she put her stupid phone on charging each night.

It was simple enough – stay busy, and she could go on pretending Lando never even existed.

Perfect.

The first call came two days after she told him to leave.

She didn’t answer it.

The screen lit up with his name — liam!, the way she’d saved it back when she still believed that’s who he was — and her hand hovered above the phone for just a second too long before she let it go dark.

He called again the next night.

And the night after that.

Eventually, he stopped leaving voicemails. Maybe he realized she wasn’t listening to them. Or maybe he couldn’t stand hearing his own voice echo into a void.

So he continued texting instead. AT least those, he knew, she read.

At first, they were long. Apologetic. Rambling things she never read fully. Things like “Please just let me explain,” and “I never meant for you to find out like that,” and “I swear, I didn’t plan any of it. Not with you.” He told her he missed her. That he couldn’t sleep. That the bed didn’t feel right without her.

She didn’t reply.

The messages kept coming anyway.

Over time, they got shorter. Less coherent. Frustrated.

liam!: I know you’re reading these. liam!: Please. liam!: Say something. liam!: Anything. liam!: I don’t care if you scream at me. liam!: I just need to hear your voice. Read Sunday

Eventually, she stopped looking at them at all.

But still — her phone buzzed at night. Sometimes just once. Sometimes over and over, until she had to silence it and shove it in a drawer just to breathe.

She never blocked him.

She told herself it was because she wanted evidence, just in case. Because cutting him off completely would’ve been stupid, unsafe.

But the truth was much crueler: perhaps some part of her wanted to know he was still trying.

The first time, she thought she was imagining the soft, hesitant knock at the door of her apartment at 11:47 PM. In the middle of getting ready for bed (or at least trying to), she just froze in place. She just stood there in the hallway, staring at the door like it might open itself.

Then it came again – softer this time, like he was worried about waking her, even now.

“Y/N?” His voice was low, broken. “I just… I wanted to say this in person.”

She backed away slowly, hand covering her mouth, breath caught in her throat.

Please, go. Just leave me alone. 

How much more are you going to hurt me?

“I know ’m the last person you want to see. I know I don’t deserve anythin’ from you. But I meant every word I said. Every morning. Every night. Every, like, stupid inside joke. That– that wasn’t fake. That was me. Fuck, I swear to god– It’s me. 

‘S the only real part I’ve got left.”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“I don’t regret meeting you,” he whispered, almost like these words were meant more for himself than for her. 

“I regret what I did to you. What I hid. But never you.”

Please, she begged. Please just go.

He did, eventually. Hours passed before she heard the sound of his footsteps retreating, before she finally felt like she could breathe again.

Only for him to be back the next night.

Some nights he just knocked and called her name softly, on to leave after he got no response in return. Other nights, he sat outside her door for over an hour, saying nothing. She could hear the way he shifted, the soft sound of his back resting against the wall. If she listened closely enough, she could even hear  the occasional crack in his breathing like maybe he was crying again and trying not to.

It took everything in her not to open the door.

There were a few nights where her willpower waned, her hand hovering over the handle. Sitting there, directly opposite to where he sat on the other side of the door, her body would ache with the memory of him — the once-familiar weight of his arm around her, the warmth of his breath on her neck, the way he used to say her name like it mattered. 

Like she mattered.

It became a pattern after that – not every night, certainly not enough to be predictable. But it happened often enough that she started to expect it.

Sometimes he talked. Sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes he sat there for five minutes, like just being near her was enough.

Once, she found him curled up against the door the next morning, fast asleep, as if the last thing he said had knocked the breath out of him and he hadn’t found the strength to leave.

She didn’t open it.

But she slid down to the floor on the other side and cried quietly into her sleeve. She cried herself sick, her own body torn between being repulsed by his betrayal and needing to be in his arms again like it was oxygen.

She could only cry harder when she remembered the way he kissed her shoulder when she fell asleep on the couch. The way he brewed her favorite tea before she asked. The way he laughed like he didn’t belong to a world so dark, even though he did.

She wanted to believe he could still be that person, but the truth was that he hadn’t lied about loving her. He’d lied about everything else. 

And no amount of heartbreak could make that okay.

On Thursday, she came home late, like always. The hallway smelled like floor cleaner and whatever her neighbors must have cooked dinner, and the lights above her door flickered like they always did.

Y/N stepped forward to open her door, looking down to reach for her keys when–

Lando?

There he was, slumped on the floor just outside her apartment, that familiar mop of curls resting against the doorframe, his arms limp at his sides.

He stood as soon as he heard her.

“Y/N—”

Her keys trembled in her hand. She didn’t say anything. Instead, she only gave him one long look – whether it was out of hatred or heartbreak, he couldn’t quite tell. 

A moment later, she just turned around, and walked back down the stairs, needing to be anywhere but there.

When she returned, Lando was no longer there. Unsure of what she felt was relief or disappointment, she’d nearly missed the small, brightly coloured sticky not stuck to her door.

But she wasn’t so fortunate. Memories of studying late at night, passing note back and forth with him on sticky notes much like this one to help pass the time. Reminders like i’ll take out the trash when i come by tonight or can we get the yogurt covered berries again? stuck to her refrigerator door, evidence of the way their lives had begun to overlap.

It made her angry. It made her furious, in fact, and for no real reason other than the fact that it was yet another reminder of him.

Y/N didn’t hesitate to ignore it in favor of pushing her door open and letting herself in, leaving the note to fall gracefully on her doorstep, unread.

It was nice seeing you today.

Sometimes when he showed up outside her door he’d talk — softly, like he thought she might be listening. Sometimes he told her stories about the café, little things he remembered, like the time she burned a whole batch of scones and tried to pass them off as “toasted." Other times he talked about his past, things she never knew. The kind of confessions that sounded like he was bleeding them out. That maybe no one else had ever heard.

And sometimes, he just sat there in silence.

One night, she heard a quiet thud and opened the peephole to see him curled up beside her door.

Asleep.

His body had gone lax like it’d given up out of sheer desperation, merely succumbing to the exhaustion of some invisible weight on his shoulders. In fact, he didn’t look relaxed at all, if the dark circles under his eyes were any indication. He’s frame had also gotten scrawnier, as if maybe he hadn’t been eating well.

For a moment, a faint memory of warm food delivered at her doorstep flashed in her mind, but it went away just as quickly as it had appeared.

It’s not like that. He’s probably eating just fine. Don’t be stupid.

As she stood on the other side of that door, she tried quite desperately to convince herself of all sorts of perfectly reasonable things – that she should open the door to kick him out again, that she should shout at him, that she call the cops like she’d threatened to and tell them that he was harassing her. 

With her thumb hovering over the call button, the tear that slipped down her cheek and dripped onto her phone screen only confirmed the same cursed truth she’d been doing everything in her power to hide from.

That she simply couldn’t.

Because every night she came home and saw him there — wrecked, waiting — it took everything in her not to fold and forgive him, right then and there. It took everything in her not to remember the way he used to hold her like the world didn’t exist beyond the two of them.

Despite the twisting sensation in her chest, she still didn’t open the door — all because remembering what they were was easier than facing what he was.

It was overcast when she went.

Not raining, but the kind of heavy gray that made the whole world feel muted — like even the sky had the decency to keep its voice down. The cemetery was quiet. Clean. Rows of headstones lined up like a frozen library of stories no one would ever finish reading.

Y/N didn’t come here often.

Not because she didn’t miss Margot. But because every time she stepped between those stones, it reminded her that Margot was really, truly gone. There was no text waiting. No sarcastic note on the café register. No spare bobby pins or blister Band-Aids tucked into Y/N’s apron pocket without asking.

Just a name carved into cold stone.

And now she needed her more than she had in months.

Y/N didn’t bring flowers. Margot would’ve hated that. She wasn’t the type to coo over daisies or pretend roses fixed anything. She would’ve rolled her eyes and said, “If you’re gonna visit me, at least bring gossip.”

So Y/N brought a coffee instead. – hot and with no cream, just the way Margot used to drink it.

She found the grave — small, simple, covered with pebbles and a few crumpled flowers from someone else who remembered. She sat cross-legged in the grass across from the headstone, carefully setting the coffee beside it.

She looked down at the grass, chewing the inside of her cheek until it hurt.

“Hey,” she whispered, voice raw from disuse. “Sorry it’s been a while.”

The breeze stirred the dead leaves behind her. The silence filled the space between heartbeats.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and sat beside the grave.

“I miss you.”

The words came out cracked. Smaller than she meant them to.

“I know that’s not news or anything, but…” She shrugged. “It’s getting harder. Not easier. You always said heartbreak’s just grief that’s still breathing, and I didn’t get it until now. Except this time I don’t even know if I’m grieving the person or the lie.”

Y/N let out a long, shaky breath as she looked down at her hands.

“I don’t know who else to talk to about this.”

She swallowed hard.

“I found out Liam’s not Liam,” she said, quietly. “His name’s Lando.”

Her voice wavered, but she didn’t try to stop it. The words some to spill out now, bubbling over into the silence that finally held enough space to hold what she’d been keeping in for so long. The emotions poured out, hitting her like a wave, winding her with their realized intensity.

“Can you believe it? I fell in love with a liar. With a… with a fucking killer, Marg. A- A mob boss. The mob boss. The one they talk about on the fuckin’ news! 

The one who was there the night you died.”

Her throat clenched so hard she had to stop and force herself to breathe.

“I told him to get out. I meant it. I still do.”

She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against her clasped hands. Angry tears escaped from the corners of her eyes, warm as the rolled down the cold skin of her cheeks. Hastily, she tried to wipe them away, like doing so would somehow wipe away this deep, burning frustration she felt.

It did no such thing.

The heat of her anger spread through her chest, heating up her flesh until she could feel it. What bothered her even more was how, deep down, she knew this anger wasnt directed at him.

It was directed at herself.

“I meant it, but… I fell for him. I fell so hard. Like, I keep thinking about how he used to stay on the phone with me until I fell asleep, remember? When the insomnia was really bad. Or– Or that time I had a panic attack before the final and he just- he sat outside my class building for three hours, like he didn’t have anything else to do until he knew I was okay.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. 

“And he’d help me study. He’d bring me snacks, too. He’d even let me nap on him when I was too wired to lie down alone. It was like- Like he made it feel easy to breathe, even when everything else felt too loud, y’know?”

Only silence answered in return. A bird chirped somewhere nearby, small and defiant.

Y/N drew in a breath, steadying herself.

“I keep thinking about what you’d say. If you were here, what would you tell me to do? Would you tell me to forget him? To hate him? Because every time I think his name, it hurts. Like, it actually physically hurts.” Her hand pressed lightly to her chest. “Because  every time I see him… my brain doesn’t think, like, mob boss or liar or- or murderer.”

Her throat tightened, but she forced the words out anyway.

“It just thinks him. The man who held my hand when my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The man who stayed up with me when I couldn’t sleep. The one who helped me color-code my exam notes even though he couldn’t care less about tort reform. The one who—” Her voice cracked. “The one who believed I could actually make it into law school.”

Tears welled up again, but she didn’t fight them this time. After all, maybe this grief would be all she ever had left of him.

“He had this crazy dream that I could do it. That I’d make it. Even when I didn’t believe it myself. He’d sit next to me on the couch and highlight things he didn’t understand just so I wouldn’t feel alone.”

She looked at the headstone.

“I think he really loved me, Margot,” she dared to whisper, the confession fracturing something in her.

She swallowed.

“And I think that’s what’s killing me the most.”

She leaned her head against her knees, curling into herself as the cold seeped deeper into her skin. The grass was damp beneath her boots. Her hands were shaking.

“I don’t know what to do.”

The wind stirred gently through the trees, soft and slow.

“I don’t know how to stop missing him.”

Y/N wiped her face roughly, smearing an ugly mix of tears across her face. It made her feel worse, and that only made her want to cry more.

“I hate him for that, you know? For being the one who believed in me most. For making me want things I didn’t even know I was allowed to want.”

She looked down at the headstone.

“If you were here… what would you say? Would you tell me to push him away?”

She reached out and traced Margot’s name with trembling fingers. The wind picked up again, rustling the trees behind her like applause in reverse. Y/N sat there a while longer, eyes closed, forehead bowed.

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“But I don’t think you would.”

She blinked fast. Her throat burned.

“I think you’d say you get it. That you’d tell me I’m not crazy for still loving him even when everything in me is screaming not to.”

She swallowed, her jaw trembling.

“Because I do. Love him, I mean. I wish I didn’t, but I do. And it hurts, Margot. It hurts because all I see is what he did. All I feel is that betrayal, sitting in my chest like it’s going to split me open.”

Her fingers curled into the dirt beside her. Anchoring herself.

“But when I see him... when I hear his voice, or think about the way he used to look at me — like I was his safe place — I can’t un-feel it. I can’t un-know how much I loved him. How much I still do.”

She wiped at her eyes roughly, like she could scrub the ache away.

“And I hate that, Margot. I hate that he still owns that part of me. Because I don’t know how to forgive it. I don’t know if I can.”

Silence followed. There was only the wind, gentle enough to not knock over the now-cold cup of coffee that remained her only company as she let herself finally feel it all. 

Hours seemed to pass as Y/N sat there, letting herself miss them both, and wondering which ghost hurt more to love.

a/n: so i know i promised this chapter literal ages ago, but at least it's out? i really wanted to like this chapter, but i think i spent so long on it that i kind of got sick of, so... yeah. not really my favorite work i've put out, but at least it something. hopefully it's still the quality angst you guys deserve :)